Resolutions Redux
by Tikatu
Summary: Someone else from Tracy Island has made a New Year's resolution. Can Brains keep the one he makes? Will it have the desired results? And will the family let Grandma keep her resolution? TV-verse. WIP.
1. The Resolution

_Author's note:_ Got a plot bunny to do another story like _Resolutions_ from last year, with another member of the _Thunderbirds_ cast making a New Year's resolution. I'm going to try not to post a chapter each day up to and including New Year's Day. The basis for John and Brains's friendship is taken from the comics, where it's said they went to university together, but I've made it a bit more realistic considering Brains's intelligence and John's field of study. Please don't consider it to be canon. Thanks to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board and beta; Hobbeth's on vacation.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them, I'm just writing about them. If you want to post this someplace else, including to a C2, please be polite and ask first.

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

The night was cloudy, cold and raw. A driving rain kept most of the party-goers indoors, where the dazzling chandeliers and bright music created a glittering, festive atmosphere. Delicious food, fine spirits, merry company; it all came together at Lady Penelope's New Year's Eve party. 

Brains looked around the ballroom, a glass of wine in one hand, the other planted firmly in his pocket. He looked rather out of place, even wearing a crisp tuxedo and black bow tie. Few people spoke to him or even noticed he was there. And that pleased him, to a certain extent. He always felt uncomfortable in situations where he had to carry on conversations with strangers. He was all too conscious of his stutter, of his thick glasses, of the fact that he just didn't know what the hot topics of conversation were. Put him in front of a group of scientists, and he could soldier on. Have him meet face to face with one of his like-minded peers and he could talk for hours, often losing his stutter in the process. But the latest fashion? Gossip? Music? Theater? Art? No. It just didn't impinge on his radar. So he stood in a relatively secluded spot, out of the way, and watched the people go by.

Jeff Tracy waltzed by, his hostess in his arms. _They're a handsome couple,_ Brains thought. _I wonder if they'll ever actually come to terms._

Scott and Virgil wandered into the room from the banqueting tables. Scott was peering over the heads of the crowd, obviously looking for someone. He seemed to have found whoever it was, because he waved for a moment, then pulled on Virgil's arm to drag him off with him.

Alan's bright hair could be seen from where Brains stood. He was talking animatedly with two or three young women, but stopped when his grandmother, who sat nearby, demanded his attention. That elderly worthy was chatting with Deborah, the Duchess of Royston, and at her command, Alan – across whose face had flashed a momentary panic – smiled wanly, and offered his arm to the aged aristocrat.

The music stopped, and there was a smattering of applause. Brains didn't join in; he couldn't tell a good ensemble from a bad one, and besides, one hand was occupied. He took another sip of wine, and watched as the population on the dance floor shifted. Some couples left as pairs – Jeff and Penelope were one of these. Some singles dropped out as their partners were claimed by others, or claimed others for themselves. A few new couples entered the throng – her Grace and Alan were one of these. More dancers – having taken a break – returned to the floor.

It was one of these last that drew his particular attention. A tuxedo-clad, ginger-haired young man with a ready smile escorted to the floor an exotic young beauty with jade green eyes and whose lustrous black locks were pinned up in a flattering style. Her dark blue evening dress shimmered with tiny beads and clung to her figure, exposing just the right amount of well-tanned skin. The pair chatted for a bit, waiting for the musical ensemble to regroup. Whatever the young man said made his partner laugh, and he joined her in her merriment. Brains, on the other hand, sighed wistfully.

It had been hard to watch the friendship growing between Tin-Tin and Gordon since the previous January. Ever since the youngest Tracy son had decided that he couldn't have a committed relationship, Brains had been hoping that Tin-Tin would see his own affection for her, and perhaps even reciprocate. But their relationship as colleagues and friends had continued along the same lines as before, while her sisterly friendship with Gordon had strengthened over the months. He was now the first one she turned to for a friendly game of tennis, or an afternoon of exploring the underwater caves. True, they often invited Brains to join them, but increasingly, he turned their down their offer. He didn't relish feeling like a fifth wheel.

_How I wish I could recapture the way I felt after Skythrust,_ he thought, reminiscing about the time when, flushed with the heady confidence of success, he dared to flirt with Tin-Tin and even asked her to dinner and champagne. _She seemed to reciprocate; she acted so coy and flirty, and me? I felt like I owned the world._ He unconsciously sighed again. _Why can't I be like that all the time?_

The music started again, a more up-tempo number than the last two dances had been. Brains lost sight of Tin-Tin in the throng. He couldn't even make out Gordon's distinctive hair color. He blinked, then took off his glasses and wiped them thoroughly on a clean handkerchief. Replacing them, he squinted through the lenses, looking for the couple. The ballroom, that jumbled mass of color he'd seen without his lenses, became distinctly clearer... but not sharply focused. _Looks like another trip to the ophthalmologist,_ he realized with a pang. _My eyes seem to be getting worse._

He finished his wine, and found a servitor who would take the glass from him. A bodily urge became mildly pressing, and he headed off in the direction of the upstairs rooms. Most of the other celebrants had to content themselves with the washrooms on the ground floor, but he was a guest in the house, and, as such, was granted full run of the place. Finding the guest room he was sharing with Jeff's retainer, Kyrano, he slipped out of his tuxedo jacket and went in to relieve himself.

While washing up, he glanced up at the mirror and stopped, frowning. Looking back at him was a bespectacled young man with plain brown hair cut in a rather outdated fashion, a washed out skin tone, and pale blue eyes magnified by the thick lenses of his blue-rimmed glasses. His current frown displeased him, so he tried smiling, only to stop when he realized how crooked his teeth were, and how he had an actual, noticeable gap between the front two. _At least they don't stick out_, he thought ruefully. _My ears are too small for my head... can't do much about that. Hmm, my nose isn't **too** big... that's a good part of my face. But my chin... could I get that fixed? Hey! What the heck am I thinking?_

He shook his head thoughtfully, the image in the mirror replicating the motion. _Maybe... maybe I need to do something here. Something about my eyes... get rid of the glasses. I could grow my hair out, get a different style. Fix my teeth; I don't think I'm too old for an orthodontist's treatment. Perhaps a new wardrobe, something with some pizzazz. Pick up a new hobby or two. Do something about the stutter. I might even grow a beard! Maybe then Tin-Tin would notice me as I'd like her to._

As the plan began to coalesce in his mind, Brains smiled. _Yes! I can **do** this! It'll be my New Year's resolution!_ He smiled wider, and winked at himself in the mirror. "W-W-Watch out world! Here comes a new, improved Hiram, uh, Hackenbacker!"

xxxx

"Have you seen Brains?" Tin-Tin came up to Virgil as he led Penelope off the dance floor. "I've been looking all over for him."

Virgil shook his head. "No, can't say that I have." He glanced up at the clock. "Just a few minutes to midnight, too."

"Shall I have Parker look for him?" Penelope asked.

"I don't... oh! There he is!" Tin-Tin smiled widely and waved her hand. "Hiram? Over here!"

Brains grinned, and joined the little group. "H-Hello, everyone," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Nearly the, uh, witching hour, isn't it?"

"Very true," Penelope said, smiling sweetly. "Ah, here is the champagne." Each member of the group took a flute from the tray offered, then Penelope turned to her friends. "I must go and be a proper hostess. I shall see you in a few moments."

As Penny walked off toward the musician's podium, Tin-Tin turned to Brains. "I was looking for you, Hiram," she said, her voice sounding a tad reproachful. "I haven't had a dance with you all evening."

"Ah, yes, w-well..." he began to stammer, looking down.

He was saved by Lady Penelope, who spoke into the microphone. "Good evening, everyone," she said, beaming benevolently on the crowd. A few voices raised in reply, and she added, "I hope all of you have been having a splendid time here tonight. There was a louder, more general murmur of appreciation, and she replied, "Oh, very good!" She paused, craning her neck a little to see all the room's occupants, then asked, "Does everyone have champagne?" Parker caught her eye and nodded; she returned the nod. The musicians, who had taken up their place behind her, were poised to play, and suddenly, the sound of the BBC radio was heard over the loudspeakers.

"...Twelve, eleven..." As the radio announcer counted, the guests joined in. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

Virgil drew Brains and Tin-Tin along to join the rest of the family as the countdown continued, "Six, five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!"

The ensemble broke into a sprightly rendition of "Auld Lang Syne". Colorful, curly streamers fell from the ceiling and the ballroom looked as if it were the center of a confetti blizzard. People around the room raised their glasses to each other and drank their champagne. There was a good deal of hugging, back thumping, handshaking, kissing and the cries of, "Happy New Year!" echoed through the room again and again.

Jeff kissed his mother on the cheek, then did the same to Penelope as she joined them. The Tracy brothers thumped each other solidly on the back, and Alan nearly knocked Brains over with his overly enthusiastic greeting. Tin-Tin gave and received kisses, and Brains watched with interest as Gordon planted a brief peck on her cheek. At last she turned to Brains, smiling sweetly.

_This is where it starts,_ he thought.

Very deliberately, he took Tin-Tin's hand. The silver bangles on her wrist jingled a little as he did so. _I don't recall ever seeing her wear those. Were they a gift? From whom? Or did she buy them for herself?_ flashed through his mind. He studied her hand for a second, gently rubbing his thumb over the center knuckle. The skin was smooth and soft; the nails perfectly manicured and painted in a clear but sparkly polish. He bowed over her hand, a deep, courtly bow, then pressed his lips to the back of it, catching a whiff of an unknown but distinctive scent. In the background, he could hear the Tracys reacting. A chuckle, followed by a drawn out "Oooooh!" was Virgil's. A choking, faux retching noise came from Alan, and a teasing "Whoa-ho!" was Scott's contribution. Gordon gave a simple huff through his nose, while Eleanor Tracy uttered a coquettish, admiring, "Oh my!"

All of this happened in a second or two, then Brains raised his eyes to Tin-Tin's startled face, and declared, "H-Happy New Year, uh, Tin-Tin."

She hesitated, then nodded graciously. "Happy New Year to you, too... Hiram."

He straightened, and Jeff clapped him on the back heartily, dislodging his glasses. "Didn't know you had it in you, Brains."

"W-Well, I can be f-full of surprises, Mr. Tracy," Brains replied, adjusting his spectacles.

"You most certainly can, Brains dear," Lady Penelope said as she surprised him with a small kiss on the cheek. "But we knew that already."

"Maybe _you_ did," Alan muttered under his breath. "But I still don't dig him."

"Come along, everyone," Jeff said. "Time to follow our family tradition."

"I believe Parker has prepared the drawing room for you," Penelope said. She touched her golden hair, and her fingers came down with a morsel or two of confetti. "I must freshen up before I say farewell to my guests," she told them with an apologetic tone. "There are times when the duties of a proper hostess interfere with what one would rather be doing."

"Then chuck the hostess routine and join us," Alan said, winking. "No reason that Parker can't glad-hand the guests for you."

"Alan!" Jeff said sharply. "Penny has a duty to perform. She'll join us when and if she can." He turned to her, and lifted her hand to his lips. "We'll see you later, Penny."

"Of course." Penelope smiled at him, then turned and walked off down the hall, her pale pink satin gown exposing her back to the waist as she glided along. Jeff took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as she glanced over her shoulder to blow a kiss at him.

Virgil clapped Brains on the shoulder as he steered the engineer toward the drawing room. "Looks like you started something, Brains," he murmured, amused.

Brains looked ahead of him. Gordon had commandeered Tin-Tin's arm and was escorting her to their destination. "I most c-certainly hope I did."

xxxx

It was nearly two a.m. by the time their reminiscing wound down. There had been a lot to remember: rescues, injuries, a fire deep in the caverns of the island, mishaps that occurred while testing new equipment, the safari that Scott had gone on, and many more things.

"Hey, remember last year," John, who was in contact with them via webcam and a secure computer, "when Gordon stammered out that resolution of his?"

"Oh, God, yes!" Virgil said, groaning. "And what we didn't do to make him break it!"

"I still haven't forgiven you for the crabs," Gordon stated, spearing a finger in Virgil's direction.

"I was very shocked to see Mr. Gordon's new haircut when he met us at the airport," Kyrano said, nodding. "He did not look like himself."

"Remember the stunt Grandma and Tin-Tin pulled on us?" Scott said. He turned to Brains. "Never realized you were that much smaller than I am, Brains."

"You, uh, ended up with my s-sash, as I recall," Brains said, smirking.

"And your shirt, too, I think," Scott told him.

"No, dear," Eleanor piped up. "You had John's shirt, Alan's pants, Brains's sash, and Gordon's hat." She smiled widely, a pleased expression. "That was rather inspired if I do say so myself."

"You didn't exactly keep the resolution, though, did you, Gords?" Alan said. He took a sip of his whiskey; it was his third and both father and eldest brother were keeping a weather eye on him.

"No, but then Dad told me I didn't have to," Gordon said mildly.

"He did cut back quite a bit though," John admitted. "Though your excuse for that thing with the corn syrup and the baby powder has still got me puzzled."

"I told you, John," Gordon said, a lazy, cat-like look on his face. "Friday the thirteenth came on Wednesday that month, that's all."

John shook his head. "I still don't get it."

Jeff quickly cut in. "Speaking of resolutions, does anyone have one this year?"

There was a sudden silence and everyone glanced at each other, wondering who would be the first to speak.

"I have one," Eleanor said.

"What's that, Mother?" Jeff asked.

"I resolve to make fewer desserts," she said proudly. She took a poke at Scott's waist with a gnarled finger. "You are all putting on weight."

"Not me, Grandma!" Scott protested. "That's all muscle!"

"All muscle, huh? Not when I find you sneaking into the fridge at night and helping yourself to my apple pie!" she retorted.

"But Grandma," Scott countered, a sly smirk on his face. "Aren't you the one who always pours me a big glass of cold milk to go with it?"

Everyone laughed, and Eleanor said tartly, "At least I'm not dishing up a scoop of ice cream to go with it, like your father prefers."

Jeff's eyes widened, and he sputtered like a teakettle, while Virgil nudged him, grinning.

"Then there's the chocolate cake, which is never safe around John..."

"Grandma!" John's protests were barely heard over the laughter.

"And the cheesecake, which is Gordon's favorite..."

"Aw, Grandma!" Gordon held his hands up. "Can I help it if you make such a delicious one?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, grandson of mine." She turned a baleful eye on Alan. "Chocolate chip cookies! I don't know how many times I've caught you snitching those chocolate chip cookies, Alan!"

"You make the best, Grandma," Alan said, leaning over to kiss her.

"Phew!" She irritably waved a hand at him. "You've had enough, Alan. Go sit down before you fall down!"

"This is all so very fascinating," Penelope said, in a tone that indicated she was enjoying the discomfort of the men around her. "And what dessert is Virgil's Achilles' heel, Mrs. Tracy?"

"Virgil?" Eleanor winked at the aristocrat, and a corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Why all of them, of course!"

Virgil's affronted, "Grandma!" was lost among his family's hearty laughter.

When it finally died down, Eleanor sat up straight and primly on the settee, putting her hands in her lap. "Well, that's my resolution. Anyone else?"

The room grew quiet again, the only loud sound coming from the fireplace, where the flames popped and crackled. At last, Brains spoke.

"I have a r-resolution for this year."

He found himself suddenly in the center of attention. "What is it, Brains?" John asked. "Maybe we can help you with it."

"We could keep you accountable," Scott offered.

Brains shook his head vigorously. "I don't want to, uh, tell you, because you might w-want to talk me out of it. And this is something I n-need to do for myself, anyway. But I d-do appreciate the offer of, uh, help. If I need it, I'll be sure to, uh, ask."

The silence this time was awkward, but Jeff finally broke it by saying, "Well, if there's nothing else, I'm ready to head upstairs."

"I am, too," Eleanor said. She glanced over at Alan, who was slumped in one of the wing chairs. "You'd better come with us, Alan."

"Oh, all right," Alan said sullenly, rising unsteadily to his feet.

"Alan!" Jeff snapped, sounding stern.

Scott rolled his eyes. Alan was definitely drunk; it was only in this state that he'd dare sass their grandmother. "You and Grandma go ahead, Dad. I'll bring him along."

Jeff nodded curtly. "Thank you, Scott." He paused, then relaxed and smiled. "Goodnight, everyone, and Happy New Year!"

"Goodnight, boys, Penelope, Tin-Tin, Kyrano. Get a good night's sleep," Eleanor said, a slight smile on her face. She took Jeff's proffered arm, and the two of them left the room.

"Goodnight, Dad! Goodnight, Grandma!" "H-Happy New Year, Mr. Tracy, Mrs. Tracy." "See you in the morning." "Sleep well!"

"I, too, shall retire for the evening. Goodnight, one and all," Penelope said. The others said their farewells, and she followed in Jeff's wake.

"Come on, Alan," Scott said to his youngest brother, who had dropped back into his chair. "Last call for you."

"Okay, okay," Alan muttered. He stood, swaying for a moment. Scott stood by to steady him, and when Alan was stable enough, herded him out of the room, calling his good nights over his shoulder.

"Well, I'm not sleepy," Gordon announced. "How about a game of snooker? Virgil? Brains? Tin-Tin?"

"I'm game," Virgil said.

Both men turned to Brains, who shook his head and said, "Th-Thanks but, uh, no thanks. Maybe s-some other time."

"Tin-Tin?" Brains couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Gordon's voice was softer and his smile warmer when he addressed her.

She hid an obvious yawn behind her hand. "I don't think so, Gordon, but thank you for asking. I'm just going to go to bed. Father?"

Kyrano, who had been dozing in a chair near the fire, roused. "Daughter?"

"I am going upstairs now. Would you come with me?"

"Yes. It is time I slept." Her father began to rise from his seat, and she went to offer her help. The old man waved away his daughter's assistance, and stood slowly. For the first time in a long while, Brains saw how old Kyrano really was; the retainer was usually so self-effacing and efficient that it took an effort to actually _notice_ something about him. When at last Kyrano was upright, he gave the three younger men a short bow, and said, "Goodnight, gentlemen. Happy New Year."

The Tracy brothers and Brains all murmured their goodnight to both Kyrano and Tin-Tin as the pair left the drawing room.

"Sure you don't want to play, Brains?" Virgil asked again.

"I'm s-sure," Brains replied. "I want to, uh, talk to John, if he isn't too s-sleepy."

John looked delighted. "I'm up for it, Brains."

"All right then," Gordon said. "Goodnight, John, Brains. See you later."

"Later, guys. Happy New Year!" John replied as his brothers moved out of his limited view.

"Goodnight, g-guys," Brains added. Virgil waved a hand in response, and he and Gordon left for their game of snooker.

"So, Brains," John said as Brains pulled up a chair in front of the computer. "You want to talk about this resolution of yours?"

Brains nodded. "I thought you might be a good, uh, resource for ideas on h-how to carry this out."

"Depends on what you want to do."

"I want a... a makeover. I want to be more s-social, more of a..." here Brains blushed unaccountably, "...a 'chick magnet'." His voice got more serious. "I want to lose the stutter, and fix my, uh, teeth, and..."

"Whoa! Slow down, pal!" John said, holding his hands up in protest. When Brains stopped, John asked, "Now, where's all this coming from? What's got you so hot about changing yourself?" He regarded the engineer with a searching look, then asked, "Does this have anything to do with Tin-Tin?"

Brains's startled look said more than his words. "N-No, no, John. Of course not!"

John rolled his eyes in a "tell me another one" expression. "Brains, you're fine just the way you are. You don't need to change a thing."

"I knew you'd, uh, say that," Brains replied. "John, I'm tired of being a... w-wallflower. I want to be someone that people, uh, remember when they meet me. Not because I'm a g-geek, or because of my, uh, stutter, but because I'm witty and friendly and... normal." He sighed. "I want to be someone who p-people _want_ to know."

John shook his head. "I don't know if I can help you, Brains. Change like that has to come from the inside. And just altering your looks isn't going to cut it."

"It's not j-just the looks, John. I n-need some new hobbies, and I want to be able to converse about more diverse, uh, topics."

"Hmm." John looked thoughtful, and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I guess that's not a bad idea, really. It's always good to expand your horizons." He raised an eyebrow and reiterated, "You're _sure_ this has nothing to do with Tin-Tin?"

"I sw-swear, it has nothing to do with, uh, Tin-Tin," Brains said emphatically.

_You've always been a lousy liar, Brains,_ John thought. "Okay," was what he said. "You know I can't do much up here at the moment; I've just begun my term of duty. But I'll send you a list of some books you might find interesting. Current topics, things I hear people talking about when I'm up here. Are you going to look for a sport to participate in?"

"I h-hadn't thought about that," Brains said. "I suppose I should."

"It'd be good for you in more ways than one. You should talk to Gordon about sports. And talk to Virgil about what's hot in music and art."

"G-Good idea. I've never had more than a, uh, passing acquaintance with music."

"I know." And John did. He and Brains had been good friends in college while John was a lowly undergraduate and Brains, already in possession of two bachelor's degrees, was working through his graduate courses as a research assistant. Their friendship had been an unlikely one, as their chosen fields of study didn't overlap much, but John had been intrigued by the fertile, ever-turning mind of the grad student. Brains, for his part, appreciated the friendship and the fact that John had sought him out because of his intellect and didn't find his peculiarities off-putting, as others had.

"Wh-Who should I talk to about, uh, fashion?"

"I'd say Tin-Tin..."

"No!" Brains's exclamation cemented John's appraisal of the situation. "No, not, uh, her."

"Then Lady Penelope. She'd know what the well-dressed man was wearing."

"G-Good idea! I can talk to her t-tomorrow. Maybe even shop on the day a-after." Brains smiled. "Th-Thanks, John. I knew I could, uh, count on you."

"You're welcome. Just remember; who you are in the inside is far more important than what you look like. And, in my opinion, you don't have to change a thing."

"I'll, uh, r-remember that, John." Brains yawned. "I think it's bedtime for me."

"Me, too," John admitted. "I'll talk to you later."

"R-Right. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Brains."

Brains hit a key, and the computer's webcam shut down. Though sleepy, he felt good. He now had a plan, and if there was anything he didn't do, it was go into a situation without one. He rose, stretched, and shut the computer down completely, then wandered off to his bed.

In Thunderbird Five, John sat back in his seat, rubbing his chin. _I should have seen this coming since Alan's stupid move last year. But I know Gordon's gotten fond of Tin-Tin now. I'd hate to have him and Brains end up rivals for her... especially if things came to blows, as could very well happen considering Gordon's temper._ He shook his head. _I just hope that, whatever happens, Tin-Tin makes her own opinion known. She'd be the only one who could defuse a potentially dangerous situation._ He yawned widely, and shook his head. _Well, no sense borrowing trouble. Brains may not even be able to keep this resolution of his._

With that, he ran a hand through his hair, and set the computers to automatic so he could get some sleep.


	2. Step 1: Clothes

_Author's note:_ You know you're a crazy Thunderbirds fan when... you're looking in men's clothing catalogues and say to yourself, "That model looks like Scott. That one reminds me of Virgil. There's Jeff, for sure." Hobbeth's on vacation, and Lillehafrue was asleep by the time I got this done, so all the mistakes are mine, bwahahahaha!

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own them, I'm just writing about them. If you want to post this someplace else, including to a C2, please be polite and ask first.

Enjoy!

Tikatu

**

* * *

January 1**

"Uh, L-Lady Penelope?"

Penelope looked up from her tea and smiled at Brains. "Yes, Brains?"

He fidgeted a little. Of the Tracys who were at the long, formal breakfast table, only Gordon looked up with any interest. Brains did not want the family to know what he was up to; he wanted them to notice the changes as they came. But he knew that his next question would pique their curiosity.

"M-May I speak with you after breakfast?" He moistened his lips with his tongue before adding, "In, uh, private?"

Now Virgil and Scott were glancing his way, and Gordon directed his attention toward the aristocrat. Jeff was seemingly buried behind his newspaper, but Brains knew from experience that his employer was listening intently. Only Grandma wasn't listening; she was having a quiet conversation with Tin-Tin and Kyrano. Alan was absent from the table; his hangover was such that he'd requested a dose of Parker's famous hangover cure and a tray in his room.

"Why certainly, Brains," Penelope replied with a gracious nod of her head. "Shall we meet in my study?"

"That would be f-fine, Lady Penelope," Brains replied. Then he went back to his bacon and eggs, quivering inside because of what he was going to undertake.

The Tracy sons glanced at each other, then Scott, trying to sound casual, asked, "Hey, Brains? When are you going to tell us about this resolution you made?"

Brains looked up, his eyes wide behind his lenses. "I, uh, thought I'd told you. I'm keeping the r-resolution to myself." He smiled slightly. "Don't, uh, be concerned, Scott. You'll figure it out s-soon."

Before Scott could say anything else, Jeff jumped in. He lowered his newspaper and folded it to place it by his plate. "Now, boys, let Brains go about this resolution – whatever it may be – on his own. He's said that if he needs help he'll ask."

"We're just curious, Father," Virgil said mildly.

"I u-understand your, uh, curiosity, Virgil," Brains told him. "But as I said, you'll f-figure it out eventually."

"I'm a little more worried about Grandma's resolution," Gordon said, glancing over at Eleanor, who finished what she was saying to Kyrano and looked up. "It'd be terrible if we hardworking IR operatives had to go without something sweet to see us through the day."

Eleanor briefly raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head slightly. "I didn't say I was going to stop making sweets, Gordon. I said I wasn't going to make as many. And Kyrano and I have been discussing ways to make your favorite desserts with less fat and less sugar... and hopefully reduced calories as well."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad, now," Gordon said, a pleased grin spreading over his face. "If anyone can figure that out, he can."

"And maybe when Grandma won't make dessert, Kyrano will," Virgil added.

Kyrano shook his head. "No, Mr. Virgil. I have agreed not to 'pick up the slack' as far as sweets are concerned. I feel that to do so I would be undermining Mrs. Tracy's resolution."

"Tin-Tin?" Scott turned a pleading face in the young woman's direction.

"Oh, Scott," she said reproachfully. "You know better than to ask it of me! If Mrs. Tracy and my father have come to this agreement, I feel I should honor it as well." She smiled at him. "It's for your own good, you know."

Virgil leaned over to murmur conspiratorially in his brother's ear. "Don't worry, Scott. If necessary, we can drop by Foxleyheath and Lil can whip up something sweet for us."

"You will _not_ bring Cook into this," Penelope said sternly, gently patting her mouth with a pink linen napkin. "Now, if you will all pardon me..."

"Certainly, Penny," Jeff replied.

She favored him with a sweet smile, then she glanced to the other end of the table, where Brains was finishing up his coffee. "I will be in my study, Brains."

"I'll b-be there momentarily, Lady Penelope," Brains promised.

She nodded, and Parker pulled her chair out for her as she rose. "Have a lovely morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Lady Penelope." "Thanks, Penny. Same to you." "See you later, Lady Penelope." The Tracys' wishes followed her as she left the room.

Brains hurriedly took a last gulp of his coffee, dripping a bit on his orange shirt. With an exasperated sputter and shake of his head, he dabbed at it with his napkin, only succeeding in smearing it a little. With a long-suffering sigh, he stood. "Please excuse m-me."

"Of course, Brains," Eleanor said, nodding. "Have a good morning."

"Th-Thank you, Mrs. Tracy. I will see you all, uh, later."

"See you, Brains." "Later!" "Have a good day, Brains." The greetings of the family faded behind him as he bustled off toward Lady Penelope's study.

xxxx

"Now, Brains dear, why do you wish to consult me?"

Penelope sat in a comfortable upholstered chair, the creamy, flower-bedecked fabric showing her light blue sweater set and matching skirt to advantage. Brains perched on the edge of a similar chair, hands on his knees.

"W-Well, Lady Penelope, I f-first must ask you keep what I am about to ask a secret unless I, uh, tell you otherwise."

"This certainly sounds intriguing." She looked at him thoughtfully. "Would this have anything to do with your resolution?"

Brains nodded. "It would. It does."

"Then I shall keep this just between us two," Penelope said, smiling. Leaning forward slightly, she softened her voice, and asked, "How may I help?"

"Well, you see, Lady Penelope," Brains began, matching the volume of his own voice to match hers. "I want to change my i-image. Become more suave and, uh, debonair, more attractive to the, uh, o-opposite sex. To do this, I must know what the well-dressed man is wearing these days. I f-figured that if anyone knew, it would be you."

"Ah! I see," Penny exclaimed softly. She sat back and looked at him critically for a long moment. "I have never felt that you were not well-dressed, Brains. That is to say, though you did not follow the current fashion trends, you have always had your own endearing and singular sense of style." A refined eyebrow rose as she considered the orange shirt and brown trousers he now wore. "Though I should say that orange is _not_ your color. It does not bring out your eyes."

"See what I mean, Lady Penelope?" Brains said eagerly. "N-No one has ever told me that. I want to know what looks g-good on me, what will play up the, uh, features I do have that Ti... that p-people would find attractive. And not only in, uh, clothing, but in h-hair style and perhaps even f-fragrance..."

Penny stood, and motioned that the engineer should do the same. She stepped toward him, and murmured, "If I may?" as she took him by the shoulders. He was only an inch or so taller than her. She pushed his short bangs back and to the side with a few light flicks of her hand, and she hummed slightly as she did so. Then, holding folding one arm across her chest, and holding her chin with the other hand, she began to circle him. At first he turned to watch her, but she caught his eye, and said, "Please, stand still, and face the chair."

He obeyed and she completed her circuit, a thoughtful frown on her features. Then she sighed audibly, a pleased noise, and said, "I think we may be able to find something that would do. I have a tailor in mind... unless you prefer to go with ready-made clothing." She took her seat again, and indicated that he should sit again, too.

"Some of each, I should think," Brains said. "I won't be able to stay and w-wait for whatever I may order from the, uh, tailor, and it would be p-preferable to have new clothes to, uh, bring home."

"Very good. As for your hair, I fear that you shall need more of it before a new style can be considered."

"I, uh, thought as much. Perhaps I can f-find someone in New Zealand or e-even Australia..."

"Or perhaps you might visit here again in two month's time," Penny suggested. "Then I could help you decide on a flattering new 'do."

Brains nodded. "Yes. That's a good idea."

"Do you have any other ideas on the subject?"

The engineer looked thoughtful, his eyes focusing on a spot beyond Lady Penelope's chair. "I am considering some orthodontic work, and perhaps something to eliminate my glasses."

"Oh my!" Penelope put a hand to her mouth in shock. "I had no idea you wished to go so far!" She cocked her head to one side and gazed at him questioningly. "May I ask... does this have anything to do with Tin-Tin?"

Brains's shoulders dropped. "John asked me the, uh, same question." He shook his head emphatically. "No, this has n-nothing to do with her."

Penny gave him a searching look, one that indicated that she didn't believe him. Then, as if she'd decided to drop the subject, she said, "Well! We have a plan, and tomorrow we shall carry it out. In the morning, I will endeavor to secure an appointment with the tailor, but if I cannot, we will have to make other arrangements."

"P-Perhaps I could stay for a few extra days," he suggested.

"How would you broach the subject with Jeff?"

Brains stopped, and frowned. "I could perhaps, uh, plead a need for r-rest. I _have_ been working hard lately, perfecting, uh, Braman and upgrading Thunderbird Five's language f-filters."

"Hmm." Penny nodded slowly. "You might also suggest a short sabbatical to see Sir Jeremy. He was unable to attend my party due to a problem with his latest creation."

"Ah, that's a b-better excuse," he said with a nod and a smile. "I'll tell Mr. T-Tracy right away."

"You should perhaps speak with Sir Jeremy first," she told him. "Be sure to have all your ducks in a row."

"I will, Lady, uh, Penelope," he promised.

xxxx

**January 3**

"So, guys? What do you think of Brains's decision to stay behind?" Gordon asked as he looked at the cards in his hand.

"If Sir Jeremy needs his expertise, who are we to say no?" Virgil commented. "One, please."

Scott picked up his cards and looked at them. "I still think it sounded fishy. Give me two."

"What do you mean, Scott?" Alan asked, frowning. He glanced at his cards, and held up a finger. "I need one."

"Well," Scott began, "he spent a lot of time out running around with Lady Penelope yesterday, even though it was Dad's birthday. Then there were all those packages..."

"So he went shopping. Big deal," Alan replied. He tossed a few chips into the kitty. "I'm in."

"He never just 'goes shopping'." Scott dropped a number of chips in. "I'll see you, and raise you five."

"Scott's right," Virgil said. "And those were _not_ parcels from electronics stores either." He put his chips in and said, "I'm in, and I'll raise you another five."

"Did you actually get a look at the packages?" Gordon asked. He perused his cards, eyes narrowing, reached out, pulled his hand back, then reached again to add his chips to the pile. "I'll see that, and raise you ten."

Scott and Alan glanced at their brother expectantly. Virgil raised an eyebrow at Gordon's bet, then turned his attention back to his cards. "As a matter of fact, I did. Most were from Harrods," he said.

"Hmph. Harrods. I'll admit that doesn't sound like Brains." Alan considered his cards. "Okay. I'm in, and I'll add another ten." The others turned their attention to their youngest brother. "What? I'm good for it."

Scott shook his head. "I'm in," he said, peering at his cards. "So, Virge, what you're telling us is that Brains went shopping for clothes, is that it?"

"Looked like it to me," Virgil said. "I'm in and raise you five." He shook his head. "Why did he go shopping for more clothes? He's not a dubious fashion plate, like Alan over there."

"Hey!" Alan protested.

"There's no reason why the man can't go shopping for clothes," Eleanor piped up. She sat nearby, her pen moving over the crossword puzzle she held. "Lands' sakes, the way you boys are going on you'd think he'd done something criminal. And to tell the truth, I think he's worn a few of his things nearly to rags."

"You've got a point, Grandma," Gordon said. "But why did he stay behind?"

"Perhaps to do what he told us he would," Kyrano said, pulling his seat into an upright position. "I am sure Sir Jeremy would appreciate Mr. Brains's opinion on his project."

"Did we wake you, Kyrano?" Virgil asked, sounding apologetic.

"No, Mr. Virgil. The change in the plane's engines did so. I believe we are ready to land."

"We're on final approach, everyone." Jeff's voice sounded through the cabin intercom. "Buckle in."

"Then I call," Gordon said, laying down his cards. "Read 'em and weep. Four of a kind."

Their landing was smooth, and Scott gave Tin-Tin a thumbs up as she climbed from the cockpit. "Nice job!"

"Thank you, Scott," she said. "Flying with your father is easier than flying with you. He doesn't constantly look at the instruments and clench his fists in his lap."

"No, he folds his arms and dares you with his eyes to make a mistake," Alan said as he pulled luggage from the hold. "Hey! I just thought of something. How's Brains going to get home, anyway?"

"Commercial flight to Melbourne next week. One of us will have to pick him up," Jeff said as he activated the antigravity float to carry their luggage up to the villa. "Don't know about the rest of you, but I'm famished."

"I will prepare a light repast, Mr. Tracy," Kyrano said as he and Eleanor headed for the lift.

"We'll be up soon," Jeff told them.

"Dessert, Grandma?" Scott called hopefully after the pair.

Eleanor shook her head and just kept walking.

xxxx

**January 4**

Brains opened the closet in his room at Lady Penelope's, and shook his head. _I've never had this many clothes! So many choices!_

Shopping with Lady Penelope had been an adventure. He'd had no idea that one could visit as many stores as they did in the few hours they had allotted for the trip. The salesclerks at their first stop, Harrods, had been helpful about what fabrics would wear well in a tropical climate. Fortunately, since it was January, a lot of the new spring fashions were available, a phenomenon that had always puzzled him. He purchased a few sweaters because since he was staying at Foxleyheath for the week. One of the items he insisted on was a brown tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows, a piece of clothing that Brains had always wanted, but never purchased for himself. He suggested to Penelope that perhaps he should buy a pipe to complete his image of a "professor" but she gently talked him out of it.

"Hiram, dear, you are planning to fix your smile, are you not? Then you will not want to sully it with nasty tobacco stains."

He had to admit she had a point.

_Now, what to wear... what to wear?_ The unfamiliar question delighted him as he eyed his new wardrobe critically. He chose a collared shirt, simple and plain, in a medium blue, and a pair of well-pressed black trousers. To this he added a burgundy colored sweater vest, and a coordinating paisley bow tie. Lady Penelope had tried to get him to change over to the more traditional four-in-hand tie, but on this point he had been adamant.

"It's p-part of my 'endearing and, uh, singular sense of style' that you m-mentioned."

She had chuckled and said, "Touché."

He cleaned his glasses, and put them on, making a face in the mirror as he saw them. _Those will go,_ he promised himself.

There was a knock on the door, and Brains said, "Yes?" as he pulled his new favorite jacket from its hanger.

Parker's voice called, "Milady sent me to tell you that breakfast h'is served."

"Th-Thank you, Parker. I will be down, uh, momentarily."

The shopping trip had an added bonus for Brains; he was in desperate need of new underwear and socks. The way things went at the island there had never seemed to be a good time to shop for them. Penelope had been on hand to point out the trouser socks and other more stylish footwear, but politely made herself scarce when it came to purchasing the underthings. Still, her influence must have lingered, because Brains ended up buying fancy boxers, feeling a thrill as he did so. It had felt and still felt like he was pampering himself, treating himself to things he'd never have considered wearing before.

He found the new black shoes he'd bought. They were polished to a high gloss, courtesy of Parker. Brains had turned his nose up at the traditional wingtips, and had chosen a pair of smooth toed shoes, brown loafers, and some new athletic shoes. "I intend to find a new, uh, sport," he had explained to his hostess.

"Those may not be adequate, depending on the sport you choose," Penny had warned him.

"I kn-know, but I've got to, uh, start somewhere," he'd replied with a shrug.

His shoes tied, his clothes neat, Brains gave his hair a last combing, trying to push his very short bangs to one side. One more tug to straighten his tie, and he left his room, his jacket folded over one arm.

"G-Good morning, Lady Penelope," he said cheerfully, smiling brightly.

"Good morning, Brains," Penny replied, looking him up and down critically. "You've chosen a well-balanced ensemble this morning. The tie brings all the colors together. Very good."

"Thank you," he said, sitting to her right. "I had so much to ch-choose from that I had a hard time deciding what to w-wear." He chuckled. "I've never had that, uh, problem before."

"You will get used to it. After all, you will have even more to choose from once we see the tailor this morning," she told him, glancing up to thank Parker as he brought her a sectioned grapefruit. "Sir Jeremy is expecting you at four. Perhaps you should pack an overnight case; the weather report calls for snow."

"Snow!" Brains rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "I haven't s-seen any snow for, uh, ages!"

Penelope gazed at him, trying to understand where his enthusiasm was coming from. "This is quite the adventure for you, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, Lady P-Penelope. I'm very e-e-excited about the possibilities in this, uh, resolution of mine."

She smiled at him indulgently. "I hope you find the results to be worth the effort you are putting forth."

Her smile reminded him of Tin-Tin, and the Starlight Roof. He took a sharp breath, and smiled back. "I hope so, t-too."


	3. Step 2: Eyes

_Author's note: _Well, so much for a chapter a day! And for the first time that I can recall, I pulled a chapter because I wasn't happy with it – and because I got some inspiration of what to add. This story will take me past the New Year, but I'll try to be timely about finishing it. Hobbeth's still on vacation, so ArtisticRainey bravely volunteered to beta for this revised chapter. Thanks, Rain!

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just writing about them. If you want to post this someplace else, including to a C2, please be polite and ask first.

Enjoy!

Tikatu

**

* * *

January 8**

"Do you see him?"

Scott craned his neck over the line of people who were coming off the commercial flight from Sydney to Melbourne. Brains had flown from London to Sydney, and made connections to Melbourne from there. "I don't see him yet, Tin-Tin."

Beside him, the Malaysian girl fidgeted a little. "I wonder how things went with Sir Jeremy. He seemed anxious to stay behind and see if he could help."

Scott glanced at her. "I wonder if we should have brought a bigger plane than Ladybird. You know what Virgil said about all those packages."

"Oh, Scott," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "You remember how many gifts we managed to fit into Ladybird the year Nicky visited us. We'll have no problem carrying home whatever things Brains purchased."

"I hope you're right," Scott said, shaking his head. "Hey! There he is... I think."

"Hiram!" Tin-Tin called, beckoning frantically. "Over here... oh my!"

"H-Hello, Scott, Tin-Tin." The young man who presented himself to them was dressed in a pair of light, well-pressed khaki trousers, with a short sleeve, open-collared polo shirt in a forest green tucked into the waistband. He wore brown loafers, and basically looked as if he'd stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue... if you could discount the glasses and the hair. He carried an overnight bag , and a garment bag was slung over one shoulder.

"Nice duds there, Brains," Scott said, grinning. "That shirt reminds me of a certain large, green flying machine... which will remain nameless in present company." He reached out to take Brains's bags from him. "Need some help there?"

Brains shook his head. "No, I'm, uh, fine."

The threesome began to walk toward the luggage pick-up. "Uh, we may n-need a skycap or at least a float," Brains explained, blushing a little. "I, uh, have more luggage coming b-back than I left with."

"Thought as much," Scott said, as he guided them along. "Especially after all that shopping you did with Lady Penelope." He snorted a laugh. "I bet you've got as many suitcases as she usually brings!"

"N-Not quite that many," Brains said, smiling. "B-But I'd g-give her a run for her money!"

All this while, Tin-Tin was frowning slightly as she looked at Brains, then finally she said, "Brains? Did you go to Heathrow in that? You must have been terribly cold!"

"Oh no, Tin-Tin!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "I w-wore something much, uh, warmer, and a good overcoat as well." His eyes lit up behind his lenses. "There was sn-snow before I left! Point three seven meters, to be precise. Lady Penelope was afraid that the flights might have been, uh, delayed, but they weren't." He glanced down at his new outfit. "I changed clothes during my l-layover in, uh, Sydney. I wanted to be p-prepared for the change in, uh, climate."

"I see," Tin-Tin said thoughtfully, nodding. "You look very nice."

"Th-Thank you, uh, Tin-Tin." The blush on his face deepened and his expression turned to a shy sheepishness that had Scott rolling his eyes.

"So, which bags are yours?" Scott asked, surveying the luggage conveyor that was marked with Brains's flight number.

"All the ones with the, uh, purple tags," Brains explained. "Lady Penelope thought they'd s-stand out more. She wanted me to use, uh, pink, but I d-declined."

"One, two... four... six..." Scott was counting under his breath. He turned to Brains. "You're right. I'll get a skycap."

xxxx

"Ladybird One to Tracy Island. Requesting permission to land."

"Tracy Island here. Permission granted." Jeff's voice came over the radio. "You're just in time for dinner."

"Hm, dinner," Scott said, a wry twist to his lips. "Any chance of getting dessert?"

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the broadcast. "It doesn't look like it."

xxxx

"That was some load you brought up from the hangars, Brains," Virgil said as they sat at the dinner table. "Thought for a moment you'd brought Lady Penelope to visit."

Brains uttered a whispered groan as he shook his head. "Uh, no, Virgil. I m-may have had a lot of l-luggage, but there's no way I could compete with, uh, her Ladyship." He smiled suddenly. "Besides, that was just once. I don't, uh, foresee any more trips quite like th-that one."

"I think you look particularly nice this evening, Brains," Eleanor said, smiling at him. "Your stay with Lady Penelope did you some good."

"Thank you, Mrs., uh, Tracy," he replied, blushing a little. He had changed clothes once again for dinner, and was now wearing a button down shirt in a dark burgundy, with one of the few items of his older outfits that Lady Penelope had declared stylish and appropriate: his gray waistcoat and matching slacks. He'd chosen one of his bow ties, a complementary plaid one that Lady Penelope had selected as being particularly appropriate. "This is the Cavalier tartan," she'd told him, a sly smile on her face. "I think it very apropos, considering your goal."

"Uh, Mr. Tracy?"

"Yes, Brains?"

"I m-made an appointment with my ophthalmologist in Wellington for, uh, next week. I'll need the time off, and someone to fly me there and b-back."

Jeff frowned. "Is there a problem, Brains? Or is this a routine visit?"

Brains sighed. "A p-problem, I fear. My vision is, uh, deteriorating."

There was a quiet murmur of concern around the table, and Jeff put up a hand to quell it. "Do you want me to pull some strings? Get you a more timely appointment?"

"N-No, that won't be, uh, necessary," Brains replied. "I can wait."

"Maybe you can, but I'm not sure _we_ can," Jeff told him.

"Now, Jeff," Eleanor said. "Let Brains be. He can make the call tomorrow and ask for an earlier date." She gave Brains a no-nonsense look. "And he will, won't you, Brains dear?"

"Y-Yes, ma'am," was Brains's bewildered reply.

"And when you have that appointment, Jeff can plan for the flight," Eleanor said smugly. "I should think Alan or Gordon could be spared to fly you out and back."

"Y-Yes, ma'am," Brains said again.

"Good." She nodded, and then turned to Kyrano. "I think it's time for dessert."

"Of course, Mrs. Tracy," he murmured.

"Dessert?" Scott said eagerly. "All right!"

"It's about time," Jeff muttered. Eleanor pretended not to hear him.

"What did you make, Grandma?" Gordon asked, grinning.

"You'll see."

Kyrano, who had gone into the kitchen, came out with a tray, which he placed on the sideboard behind Eleanor. Then he came to stand at her shoulder. "This evening, we have chocolate cream pie or banana cream pie. Which would you prefer, Mr. Tracy?"

"Hm," Jeff said, a pleased expression on his face. "We haven't had this for quite a while. I think I'll have banana."

"Very good, sir."

Kyrano asked his question of each member, serving up slices of the pie to everyone. When everyone was served, and they began to eat, Virgil took a bite of his chocolate cream pie and said, "This doesn't quite taste the same as usual, Grandma. What did you do with it?"

"Do you like it, Virgil?" she asked as a reply.

He nodded. "Yes, I guess so. Just takes a bit of getting used to."

"Well then," she said, a wide, triumphant smile on her face. "I used fat-free, low-calorie pudding, skim milk, sugar-free whipped topping, and a low fat shortening in the crust."

Scott's eye grew wide, and he finished his mouthful, then put his fork beside the remaining half of his slice. He patted at his mouth with his napkin. "Thanks for the pie, Grandma. I think I'm finished."

"You should try the banana, Scott," Gordon said. He took a wide bite, chewed, and took a drink of his coffee. "You can't grow diet bananas."

"Hey, if you don't want that, Scott, I'll gladly eat it," Alan offered.

"Knock yourself out." Scott had started to hand it over when Eleanor spoke sharply.

"Alan! Scott! Give that to me."

"Aw, Grandma! No sense it going to waste," Alan exclaimed.

"No sense it going to _your_ waist," Grandma replied crisply. "There are still calories and carbohydrates in it, and you don't need them." She glanced around the table, catching each person's eye as she did so. "One piece per customer from now on."

Alan looked imploringly to the head of the table, but Jeff was studiously paying attention to his coffee and a data pad he'd brought to the table.

"Please excuse me, everyone," Scott said as he rose from his seat. "Delicious meal, Kyrano. Thank you."

"You are very welcome, Mr. Scott," the retainer said with a short bow.

Scott left the table, followed quickly by Alan, then Virgil. "Hmph," Eleanor said irritably. "Not a word about the dessert."

"Give them time, Mrs. Tracy," Tin-Tin counseled. "They'll get used to it."

"At least we _got_ some dessert," Gordon said. "I've been going through withdrawal symptoms the past few days!"

"You're exaggerating, Gordon," Jeff said, a clear indication that he was listening to the conversation. He glanced up at Brains. "Let me know if you get an earlier appointment. Your vision's important, Brains."

"Y-Yes, sir."

As the rest of the family excused themselves from the table, Brains had an errand in the lab. _Better bring those new lab coats down and put them in the lockers. That was one thing that Penelope couldn't really help me with; lab coats aren't exactly fashion items. But I needed some new ones, and these will help protect my new clothes._ He glanced at his phone as he gathered the coats up. _I think when I make that call tomorrow, I'll call my dentist, too. No sense going to Wellington several times in a row when I can get my eyes examined and teeth cleaned on the same day._

xxxx

**January 11**

"So, what are you going to do?" Alan asked as they flew on to Wellington.

"Wh-What do you, uh, mean?" Brains sat up in the cockpit of the JT-1 with Alan.

"Well, you've come home with an entire new wardrobe," Alan said. "Now you're heading out to have some procedure done on your eyes _and_ seeing your dentist at the same time. You're obviously trying to prove something."

"I don't see that it's so, uh, o-obvious," Brains replied mildly. "I've noticed a deterioration in my eyesight, and I'm h-having an examination. I most likely will get a p-prescription for new eyeglasses."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. I guess I figured that you'd want to get rid of those glasses altogether," Alan said, surprised. "I mean, eye surgery is so easy these days." He paused, then asked, "How about the dental appointment?"

"Alan, it's merely time for my, uh, usual dental prophylaxis."

"Your what?"

"Time to get my t-teeth, uh, cleaned."

"Oh." Alan was quiet for a few moments, mentally chewing over what Brains had told him. "Then, if you're not trying to prove anything, why the new wardrobe?"

Brains glanced at his pilot, and shook his head. "Why _not_ a new, uh, wardrobe? You b-buy clothes all the time and b-barely wear them twice. I just t-took advantage of an opportunity to sh-shop, and to ask the, uh, advice of someone knowledgeable about men's f-fashions."

"Still, this is kinda out of the blue for you, especially in light of your mysterious resolution," Alan argued.

The engineer raised his hands, palms up. "Wh-What can I say? Sometimes a little, uh, change is good."

Alan shook his head in frustration and disbelief. _I don't think I'll **ever** dig this guy._

xxxx

"It's not good news, Hiram." Dr. Briscoe shook her head. "Your eyes are getting worse. It's time to consider surgery."

Brains drew in a deep breath and let it out in a deep sigh. "I th-thought as much. And truthfully, I was already, uh, considering it, even if my eyes hadn't ch-changed. I j-just didn't want it to s-seem like I was, uh, choosing it. If it's a n-necessity, that's b-better."

The ophthalmologist folded her arms. "I don't understand."

He leaned over to her in a conspiratorial fashion. "You, uh, see, I've made a resolution to b-better myself. I want to impress people, and b-be less of a wallflower. But I d-don't want my employer's f-family to pick up on this r-right away. I'd like to keep them, uh, guessing."

"Ohhh-kay," Dr. Briscoe said, still puzzled. "Whatever you say. Let's get your surgery scheduled, and I'll prescribe some drops for you to use during the week before your appointment."

"Good," Brains said, beaming. "I c-can hardly wait!"

xxxx

His surgery was scheduled for the twenty-first. He took the prescription drops with him, and let Alan choose a restaurant where they could eat lunch.

"I'm taking us somewhere with a dessert buffet," Alan announced. "Need to satisfy my sweet tooth. Maybe while you're in the dentist's office I can buy some cookies to bring back."

After lunch, Alan drove him out to his dentist's office.

"Your teeth are in good condition, Hiram," Dr. Forbes told him as he examined Brains's teeth. "Just a little cleaning and you'll be fine."

"C'n oo eck-om-men a ort-o-dntst?" Brains tried to ask.

"Recommend an orthodontist?" Dr. Forbes translated. "Yes, I can. Finally going to take my advice about that gap and your malocclusion?"

"Eyah," Brains said, nodding slightly.

Dr. Forbes smiled. "Good call. Would you like my receptionist to set up an appointment?"

"Pwees."

Teeth clean, orthodontist referral made, Brains went out to find Alan. He waited ten minutes before the sports car arrived. Alan flashed a bright smile as Brains climbed in. "Sorry I'm late, Brains. I found a grocery not far from here and stocked up." He indicated the bags in the minuscule back seat. "The guys will be happy; I bought enough for all of them."

"They'll be g-grateful," Brains replied, grinning back. "Especially, uh, Scott."

"Hey, do you think you could have another 'appointment' sometime soon? It's the perfect cover."

"I've g-got one on the, uh, twentieth. Is that s-soon enough?"

"If we can get the other guys to ration their sweets out until then, it'll work just fine."

xxxx

"Oh, Brains," Tin-Tin said as he told her about the upcoming surgery. "Are you sure you really need it?"

"Y-Yes. Dr. Briscoe was very, uh, certain," Brains told her. He smiled slightly and reached up to touch the blue frames. "It will b-be a nice change to see you without any, uh, impediments."

"But... you look nice in your glasses," she told him softly. "I will... miss them."

He glanced down, scuffing the toe of his new loafers on the lab's floor. "You'll g-get used to it, Tin-Tin, in t-time."

She sighed. "I suppose I shall."

While readying himself for bed that evening, he tried to see what he would look like without the glasses. He had to lean very close to the mirror to actually get a relatively clear image. _Funny, I rarely see myself in the mirror like this. I never bother to look at myself unless I've got my glasses on. Soon this will be the face I see when I look in the mirror._ He cocked his head to one side, then the other. _I think it's a good face. Sure, I'm not handsome like the Tracys are, but I don't think I'm ugly either._ He ran a hand through his hair._ And I'll look even better with a new hairstyle. Tin-Tin will like that._

xxxx

**January 17**

"No dessert for me, thanks," Scott said, putting up a hand. Kyrano had made a fruit torte this evening, but Scott was looking forward to grabbing a package of snack cakes to assuage his craving for chocolate. He missed having Eleanor's apple pie; Alan had brought a pie back for him, and it was the first thing he'd eaten. Even so, it hadn't been the same. _Hm. Maybe I should volunteer to be Brains's pilot on this next trip to Wellington._

"Uh, Father?"

"Yes, Scott?"

"Who's flying Brains to Wellington on the twentieth?"

Jeff glanced at the other diners. His sons were watching him intently; each in turn had asked him if they could go and Scott was the last to do so. He hadn't made a commitment to any of them, not knowing who he could easily spare for the trip. The smuggled-in sweets had not escaped his notice, even if Alan had neglected to buy any for him. _I understand what Mother's trying to do, and in a way, I approve. I miss having apple pie or chocolate cake at meals, but this way, when we do have it, it will be special and more appreciated. Yet, I still do miss it, and understand what my sons are goin_g through. _I think I'd better take this trip myself. I'll decide later if I want to bring some treats back. _

"Well, Scott, I thought I'd do it this time. I know it's an overnight and all, but you can handle things for me while I'm gone."

Around the table, eager faces fell. _There goes any hope of getting restocked,_ Scott thought glumly.

**January 19**

"Has anyone seen Brains?" Jeff asked, a puzzled frown on his face as he came back into the lounge.

"Last time I saw him, he was out by the pool," Virgil said, glancing up from his music.

"By the pool? What's he doing out there?"

"He's reading," Gordon offered, looking up from his surfing magazine. "I asked him for a game of chess, but he wasn't interested."

"I've got some questions about Thunderbird One's last post-flight check. I'd better call him in." Jeff moved behind his desk, and flipped a switch on the intercom system. "Brains? I need to see you right away."

"Y-Yes, Mr. Tracy. I'm on my, uh, way."

"Uh, Dad?" Gordon said, a concerned look on his face.

"Dad?" Virgil said at the same time. He glanced at his brother, who nodded. "I think we'd better warn you..."

He stopped speaking as their topic of conversation entered the lounge, removing his sunglasses and blinking owlishly. Jeff noted that the scientist had come from the balcony, but that little fact was overshadowed by the way Brains was dressed. He wore a pair of khaki walking shorts, a navy blue golf shirt, and brown leather boat shoes on his feet. The reality of Brains, who _always_ wore trousers, exposing his skinny white legs to the public was shocking, to say the least. Even more shocking was the magazine he had tucked under his arm: _Hollywood Report._

"Hope you put some sunscreen on," Gordon commented dryly.

"I t-told you I, uh, had," Brains replied as he fished his glasses out of his shirt pocket. He put his magazine down and turned his attention to his employer. "You n-needed me, Mr. Tracy?"

"Well, uh, um, yeah," Jeff sputtered. He shook his head as if to clear it, and because curiosity demanded it, asked, "Why are you reading _that_?"

"Oh, uh, this?" Brains glanced down at the magazine, and then laid it on one of the small tables in the room. "J-Just trying to keep up-to-date on the l-latest entertainment t-trends."

"But _why_?" Jeff's voice had a tone of pleading in it as he sought to understand. "You've never had any interest in such things before."

Brains colored. "W-Well, I, uh, thought it m-might help us to a-avoid incidents like the one with the M-Martian movie. We c-come into contact with the, uh, media quite often and having kn-knowledge of the way it works..."

Jeff held up a hand. "Okay, okay, I guess it makes sense. I don't need to hear anymore." He beckoned to the engineer. "I've got some questions about your report on Thunderbird One's last post-flight check."

"O-Okay, Mr. Tracy." Brains moved closer, pulling a chair with him. "What's y-your question?"

Gordon glanced at the two of them, then at Virgil. He made a motion with his head toward the study. Virgil nodded and the pair moved out of the room, leaving Jeff and Brains to plan in private.

"So, what do you think is happening?" Virgil asked as they stepped out into the hallway.

Gordon sighed, letting his breath out his nose. "I'm not sure, but I know that song and dance Brains gave Dad was just that: a song and dance. He's always been a lousy liar."

"I bet Dad knew it, too, but was too shocked by Brains's clothes to comment."

"Yeah. I just hope Brains doesn't get burned. It was weird seeing those pale legs of his sticking out in the sun like that."

"I agree." Virgil stopped walking and faced Gordon. "What do you think is going on with him? I mean, I can see the new wardrobe; he's needed new clothes. And from what I understand, he really needs the surgery on his eyes. But... sunning himself? Reading about Hollywood? Where's this all coming from?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with that resolution he's made." Gordon shook his head. "Tin-Tin's all confused over it."

Virgil gave his brother a piercing look. "Do you think she's the reason why he's doing all this?"

"Possibly." Gordon shrugged. "I wish..."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's wishful thinking on my part."

"It's obviously something," Virgil pressed. "Wouldn't it do you good to talk it out, whatever it is?"

"No." Gordon shook his head. "It's no use talking about it. I know the answers, and I have to respect them." He smiled ruefully. "Let's just drop it. Have you come up with a way to get Grandma to drop her resolution?"

"Not yet," Virgil said. "And it's hard to justify having sweet desserts at every meal anyway."

"Wonder why Scott's been avoiding those desserts we do have?" Gordon wondered aloud. "I mean, some of the low-calorie stuff tastes just like the real thing."

"You mean besides the treat stash Alan came home with? I have no idea."

"Maybe we should ask him."

Virgil nodded his head slowly. "Good idea. Let's go."


	4. Step 3: Teeth

_Author's note:_ Yeah, this is definitely taking longer, especially when the characters start doing things you didn't exactly plan for! My thanks to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board and giving me the name of the book that Brains ends up buying. The "braces" that Brains will be using are based on a current technology called Invisalign (www. Invisalign. com). Hobbeth is back, and I expect her to get back into the betareading swing of things next chapter. And to all, a belated Happy New Year!

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just writing about them. If you want to post this someplace else, including to a C2, please be polite and ask first.

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

"What do you mean?" Scott asked, frowning at Virgil. His two younger brothers had tracked him down in the game room to ask their question. 

"Don't think we haven't noticed, Scott," Virgil said, folding his arms across his chest. "If it's diet, and you know it, you won't touch it."

"So?" Scott turned back to the pool table. "Is there something wrong with not liking diet food?"

"But why?" Gordon asked, suddenly reaching out and picking up the cue ball. He nonchalantly tossed it up and down in one hand as he spoke. "The stuff doesn't taste _that_ bad. In fact, some of it's pretty good."

"But is it good for you?" Scott asked. He put down his pool cue, laying across the width of the table. "Have you read anything about those artificial sweeteners? What they can do to your body?"

"No," Virgil stated. "What can they do? And where are you getting your information?"

"Come with me," Scott said, indicating with a hand that his brothers should follow him. Virgil and Gordon exchanged glances; Virgil shrugged, and Gordon put the cue ball back down on the table before leaving in Virgil's wake.

Once in his room upstairs, Scott showed his brothers a data pad. "See?" he said, pointing to a highlighted portion. "Gas, bloating, diarrhea... all from artificial sweeteners."

Virgil scanned the article, with Gordon reading over his shoulder. When he had finished, he handed it to the younger man so that Gordon could finish reading. "Scott, those are the older sweeteners, the ones developed near the beginning of the century. I'd be surprised if anyone's still using them. In fact, if you went up and snooped in the cupboards, you'd probably find that none of the stuff Grandma is using has those sweeteners in it." He shook his head. "She's never do that. It'd jeopardize our operations."

"And you have to consider the source, Scott," Gordon said, as he pointed to the URL where Scott had gotten his information. "This is from a subsidiary of Life Untainted, the people who are against agricultural, genetic and all other types of bioengineering. The loonies who ruined that crop of genetically altered wheat in the Congo last year."

"Lemme see that," Scott said, pulling the pad out of Gordon's hands. He scanned the identification information at the bottom of the page. "How do you know they're part of Life Untainted?"

"Read about them in the news a few weeks ago," Gordon said. "A half dozen major companies are suing them for libel for the dicey information they've provided on this very website." He caught his older brother's eye. "Consider the source, Scott."

Scott turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay. You've made your point. I'll try to eat whatever dessert Grandma makes, diet or not." He turned around suddenly. "But it's just not the same! Doesn't have the same texture, the same... sweetness."

"Ah, I see," Gordon said, nodding sagely.

"See what?" Virgil asked, puzzled.

"The sweet tooth," Gordon replied. "I went through it, too, when I was training for WASP. Train hard all day, eat balanced meals, and want something sugary and fattening from home at the end of the day."

"Yeah," Scott said wryly. "Whoever had a care package with homemade cookies had clout, I'll tell you!" He sighed. "And it was a comfort, too."

"Yeah, to know someone at home was thinking about you," Gordon agreed.

"Y'know, I remember that when Mom died, Grandma made dessert a lot. I used to think it was to get John to eat," Virgil said, his voice far away at first, then suddenly wry and full of humor.

"It was, sort of. More than that, it was her way of comforting us." Scott sighed. "But...we got into the habit," he said, shrugging. "And it's hard to break." He sighed again. "I guess I need to, though. Either that... or..." An eyebrow went up and a surprised, pleased expression crossed his face.

"Or what, Scott?" Virgil asked, his tone warning.

Scott smiled beatifically. "Oh, nothing. Just a fleeting idea." He shook his head, looking serious now. "It wouldn't work out anyway. Don't worry about it."

Gordon and Virgil glanced at each other as if to ask, "Do we believe him or not?" Gordon shrugged a shoulder slightly, and Virgil sighed.

"Okay, Scott. Whatever you say."

"Thanks, Virge." He smiled widely at his two brothers. "Either of you up for a game of pool?"

Gordon was about to reply when the emergency alarm sounded.

xxxx

"J-John, I don't know that the _Hollywood Report_ was such a good idea," Brains said as he discussed the situation via wristcomm. "I'm just not that, uh, interested in the m-media."

"But you want to know what people are talking about so you can converse easily. And the media is always a topic of conversation," John argued. "New movies, new televid shows, celebrity gossip... you can't go wrong."

Brains gave John a dubious look, and his face twisted into an expression of disgust. "It seems like, uh, voyeurism, if you a-ask me."

"Then just stick to the upcoming projects," John told him. "Don't mess with the celebrity gossip if you don't want to." He paused, running a hand through hair. "Did you get the _Publisher's Weekly_? And _The New York Times_?"

"Yes, yes, I have, uh, subscribed to both," Brains said with a sigh. "B-But I don't see how I'm going to have time to w-work, if I'm trying to k-keep up with book reviews and such."

"You need to read in your spare time," John reminded him. "And not only the reviews, but the books themselves."

"B-But I need to r-read about my own, uh, field of endeavor, too," Brains countered. "And wh-what about, uh, Braman? He's been feeling s-sorely neglected l-lately."

John blinked... and blinked again. "He's been what?"

Brains rolled his eyes and shook his head quickly. "N-Never mind. I just don't think I'll have, uh, time to d-do all this reading. Especially with my eye s-surgery coming up."

"You do realize that Dad will most likely give you some sick time due to the surgery."

"Y-Yes, I, uh, understand that." Brains looked uncomfortable. "I just don't l-like taking sick time."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes and shake his head. "It won't matter if you want to or not. If I know my father, he'll _make_ you take the time."

Brains sighed. "I know."

"So, make the most of it. Read some of the more talked-about books out there. Pick them up while you're in Wellington. If the doctor says it's okay, get some sun, kick back, and read." John glanced away for a moment. "Gotta go. We might have a rescue coming. Talk to you later, Brains."

"O-Okay," Brains said. He pressed the button to end the call, and not five minutes later, the alarm sounded.

xxxx

In the lounge, Jeff was getting the information on the rescue as his sons came rushing in. "Climbing party stranded on Mount Arkon," he said tersely. He glanced up as Brains came in, followed by Tin-Tin, then turned to Scott. "Scott, take Thunderbird One. Make sure you're dressed for the weather."

"F-A-B, Father," Scott said smartly as he headed for Thunderbird One's entrance.

"Virgil, on your way. Gordon, Alan, join him in Thunderbird Two. I think we'll need as much manpower as possible."

"F-A-B!" "Right, Dad." "F-A-B, Dad!" The three remaining Tracy sons scattered, Virgil going to the painting of the rocket and his ride to Thunderbird Two's cockpit, while Alan and Gordon headed for the passenger elevator.

"I'm sorry, Brains, but unless we can get these climbers out quickly, I'm not going to be able to fly you to Wellington," Jeff said as he settled behind his desk. "But I'll make arrangements so that Tin-Tin can do so in my stead, if need be. Is that all right with both of you?"

Brains nodded. "I u-understand, Mr. Tracy."

"Tin-Tin?" Jeff prompted.

Tin-Tin gave Brains a quick glance and smile. "Yes, Mr. Tracy. I'm glad to help."

**January 20**

"So, why do you need to be in Wellington so early?"

"For pre-op b-blood work," Brains explained.

"But that's not all, is it?" Tin-Tin asked.

The Tracy boys had returned in the wee hours of the morning, having rescued three of the six climbers, and retrieved the bodies of two more. The last body was irrecoverable, having fallen into a deep crevasse. Jeff had stayed up for the entire time, and as a result was in no physical condition to fly Brains anywhere. Ergo, they went with plan B, and it was Tin-Tin who sat in Ladybird's cockpit as pilot.

Brains sighed. He didn't want to tell her about the orthodontist appointment, but he couldn't see any way around it. He wasn't sure if he would need any anesthesia or a bit of sedative to help him through the process, and he really couldn't drive if the doctor insisted on it.

"You're r-right. This a-afternoon I have an appointment with an, uh, orthodontist."

"An orthodontist? For braces?" Tin-Tin's puzzlement came through clear from her vocal tone.

He nodded his head, trying not to sigh again. "Y-Yes. For b-braces."

She took a moment to actually look at him. "But why?" She shook her head quickly and corrected herself. "I mean, I know why a person would use braces, and even why you personally would want them. I guess I'm asking, why _now_?"

"Well," he began, trying frantically to find a way to answer her question without giving away his ultimate reason. "I have c-considered dealing with my, uh, malocclusion before, and th-thought that it would be more time efficient if I took the, uh, opportunity now, instead of l-later."

"Hm." Tin-Tin thought that over, then nodded. "I suppose I can understand that. I know you don't like to be away from your work for long."

"Th-That's right," Brains said, relieved that his explanation passed muster. "So, I'll have the b-blood work done first, then visit my orthodontist, and tomorrow, the, uh, eye surgery."

"You'll look so... different, when all of this is finished," Tin-Tin said softly.

Her tone made him glance over at her. "Does that, uh, bother you?"

"Not if it's what you really want," she replied, just as softly. "As you said, I'll get used to it."

His shoulders slumped at the resignation in her tone, and he sighed softly, feeling defeated.

xxxx

The blood work took only a few moments, then Brains could eat. He and Tin-Tin shared a late breakfast, and she was surprised to hear him talk about a new book he wanted to read, _Looking For Winter: A Soldier's Journey Through World War III_. They checked into their hotel, in adjoining rooms, and Brains cleaned his teeth thoroughly. A short browse through a bookstore to buy the book – and a few magazines that made Tin-Tin frown – then they went on to the office of the orthodontist, Dr. Rangihau.

"I have your records and latest scans from Dr. Forbes," she told him, the blue _moto, _or Maori tattoo,that surrounded her lips fascinating Brains as it moved with her speech. "I will take a scan of my own, then we can talk about what exactly you want to see happen in this correction."

"H-How long will the, uh, correction take?" he asked as she prepared the scanner.

"Depending on what you want your smile to look like, up to six months. You'll have to come for follow-up visits every two to three weeks for a new aligner. But the success of this will depend on you and how well you adhere to the program. If you don't wear the aligners as prescribed, then treatment will take longer."

The scan took a good fifteen minutes, then Brains waited for the doctor to look over the results and compile his options. While he waited, he opened the book and began to read. By the time the doctor called him into her office, he was a third of the way through, and shaking his head in incredulity.

"Hm," she said as he set the book down on the floor next to his seat. "I've been wanting to read that. What do you think of it so far?"

Brains blinked a couple of times, put up a finger, opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. "I c-could talk for h-hours on what I think is, uh, wrong with this book, and I haven't even, uh, finished it yet," he finally explained. "Let's just g-get on with the alignment."

The doctor was taken aback. "Hours? And you haven't even finished it?" She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Whew!" With a last look of disbelief toward her new patient, she shook her head a little, then turned to the computer screen. "All right then, Mr. Hackenbacker. Let's get to it."

xxxx

When Tin-Tin came in response to his phone call, she asked, "How did it go?"

"Well enough," he replied, climbing into the Tracy's car. "I h-have to go back after my, uh, surgery and get my f-first set of aligners."

"Then you've got a busy day tomorrow," she said as she pulled away from the curb. She flashed a winsome smile his way, and asked, "What would you like to do tonight?"

The question took him by surprise. "Well, I, uh, hadn't really thought..."

She cut him off. "I know! There's a club I've been to before, a nice place with dinner and dancing. Perhaps we could go there this evening."

"Uh... sounds good to m-me," Brains said. "Though I d-don't think I packed the clothes for a night on the, uh, town."

"Oh, Brains," Tin-Tin said, laughing. "It's only one club. Not a 'night on the town' at all."

"I'll, uh, take your word for it."

xxxx

"This is nice," Tin-Tin said softly as they swayed on the dance floor. "This makes up for not getting to dance with you at Lady Penelope's."

"You p-picked a nice, uh, place, Tin-Tin," Brains replied, smiling. "The food is very good, and I d-didn't expect this kind of, uh, music." _I can't believe how lucky I am! Her perfume, her smile, the softness of her skin, holding her so close... it's exciting and frightening and wonderful all at once! Dancing with her was never like this before. If I died right now, I'd die a happy man._

"So," Tin-Tin began, meeting his blue eyes with her green ones, "tell me about your resolution."

Brains, still enthralled with her closeness, murmured, "Hmm?"

"Your resolution. Oh, come now, Brains," she coaxed, smiling sweetly, "you can tell me. I don't know why you haven't told anyone else about it, but I promise I'll keep it a strict secret. It will be just between us two."

He looked down at her, coloring, the import of her words finally registering in his besotted brain. "I... I c-can't, Tin-Tin. Really."

"Why not? We're friends, aren't we?"

Her offhand comment cut like a knife. _Friends, yes, but I want so much more! I want you to notice me, to be attracted to me!_

She gazed up at him, concerned at his silence. "Brains? Are you all right?"

He swallowed his hurt, and nodded. "I'm, ah, okay, Tin-Tin."

"Good." They continued to dance as the music set a slow tempo. "If you won't tell me your resolution, will you tell me why you're doing all this?" She swept an arm out to indicate the city. "You've given us perfectly valid reasons, I know, but somehow I think there's more to it." She smiled, and with a chuckle, said, "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were trying to impress a girl."

The words were out before he could stop them. "I a-am."

"You are?"

He couldn't decide if she looked puzzled or hurt or both, but he nodded. She was quiet for a little bit, then, in a voice that sounded as if she were being brave, said, "Well, she must be a pretty special lady for you to go to these lengths for her."

Again, his response was without thought. "Sh-Sh-She is."

Tin-Tin took in a deep breath and eased away from him a little. The music ended, and she drew back even further. "I... I think we'd better go. I'm getting a headache... and you have surgery in the morning."

"Oh, uh, okay," Brains said, cursing himself for not taking the opportunity to tell her the truth.

He followed her back to the table, where she reclaimed her tiny handbag, and he took care of the financial matters. Then she led the way from the club, not speaking to him again until she murmured, "Good night," at her hotel room door.

xxxx

Back at Tracy Island, a stealthy figure padded cautiously toward the darkened kitchen, a piece of computer paper clutched in one hand.


	5. Step 4: Confidence

_Author's note:_ I figure that the metric system would have finally taken over the world by the 2060s, so all the measurements are in metric, including temperature, which is Celsius. My thanks to Lillehafrue for being a sounding board and to Hobbeth (yay, she's back!) for being a sounding board and betareading. The recipe for "One Bowl Brownies" is taken from a pamphlet called "Holiday Desserts" published by Kraft General Foods, Inc, 1993. If anyone is interested in the recipe, I'll be glad to send it on via email... but it'll be in the old-fashioned English measurements! ;P

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just writing about them. If you want to post this someplace else, including to a C2, please be polite and ask first.

Enjoy!

Tikatu

* * *

The kitchen door swished shut, allowing the intruder to turn on a light. He spread the computer paper down on a counter top and smoothed it out. 

" 'One Bowl Brownies'," he murmured, smiling. "This sounds easy enough." Glancing over at the pantry, he said aloud, "I guess I'd better get my ingredients together first."

Pulling open the door, he stepped inside and frowned. Within, stacked snugly on a single shelf, were probably a dozen air-tight plastic containers, all looking much alike except for size, and all filled with what looked like the same thing: flour.

"How many kinds of flour _are_ there?" he muttered as he looked for identifying labels. He ducked out of the pantry to glance again at his paper. "And what kind of flour do I use here, anyway? The recipe just says 'flour'." He peered once more at the containers, then picked one at random. "Who cares? Flour is flour." He put the chosen item on the counter, then peeked at the recipe again. "Sugar. Where's the sugar?"

Back into the pantry he went. Here there were fewer boxes to choose from. "At least I know the difference between brown sugar and white sugar," he muttered as he pulled down a container. "This should do. What's next?" He smiled widely. "Ah, chocolate. That's not in here."

He poked around in the spotless, well-organized cupboards. "Here's some... but is it the right kind?" He sliced a little curl off the big chunk of dark chocolate he found, and put it in his mouth, then shuddered. The memory of raiding his mother's supply of baking chocolate and discovering how bitter it was rose up. "Oh yeah, that's the right stuff. Recipe says I need four squares of it. But how much is a 'square' and how do I measure it out? I'm sure this sucker is a whole lot more than I need." He stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "Hm. This is more complex than I thought."

He blew a frustrated breath out through his nose, and glanced around the kitchen. Spying a shelf at the far end, he went to investigate. "Hey. Cookbooks! Maybe one of them can define 'square' for me."

The cookbooks were lined up neatly at what would be eye level... for Eleanor or Kyrano. He had to stoop a bit to read along the spines. "French, French, Malay, French, English... but it's all entrées. Malay, French... ah!" He pulled a well-worn volume from the group. "_Down Home Cooking:_ _Recipes For All Seasons. _This looks like a winner._" _

Laying the cookbook on the counter next to his recipe, he opened it carefully. "Man, this is old," he muttered. "Published in 1984? Wow! It's older than Dad!" He paused, then added, "Might even be older than Grandma!" Locating the index, he ran his finger down each page until he came to... " 'Measurements and Conversions'. Just what I need." He gently turned the pages until he found the one he wanted. "Cup, teaspoon... uh oh." His shoulders slumped and he sighed. "These are the old fashioned English measurements." Staring at the list, he shook his head. "Maybe I can figure it out... if I can find out what that damned 'square' is."

It took another fifteen minutes, but he finally discovered what he needed. "One 'square' of chocolate is the same as one ounce. Okay. Got it. Now let's see if there's a metric conversion table here somewhere..."

There was. "Yes!" he hissed, pumping his fist in the air. "One ounce is roughly equivalent to 30 cc. That'll be 120 cc in all. Now we're cooking!" He went back to his recipe. "What's next? Oh, eggs. Those are easy. In the fridge."

He found three eggs, and laid them on the counter, then checked his recipe again. "Oh no," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Butter. Another big block of stuff," he complained as he fetched it from the fridge. "Well, at least this time I have the proper measurements. And I think I know where the measuring cups are."

The drawers beneath the counter top provided not only what he was searching for, but the measuring spoons and a variety of other helpful utensils. "Okay. Butter, and... vanilla. Wonder where she keeps the vanilla."

The answer was a cupboard full of spices. "Whoa! That's a big bottle. Have to be careful not to spill it." He poked around a bit more. "Wonder if there are any walnuts in there."

There weren't so he went back to check his paper once more, and double check it against the items he had on the counter. "Looks like I have everything. Now what do I do? Hm. Measure and melt the butter and chocolate together. Good. Get the hard stuff out of the way first."

For the next 45 minutes, he chopped, measured, melted, cracked, scooped, measured, poured and stirred. When all the ingredients were combined into a sticky, grainy, dark brown mixture, he put a finger in and tasted. "Mmmmm!"he said, smiling. "This is gonna be good!" He glanced at the clock. "But it'll be nearly time for Kyrano to make breakfast by the time it's all baked and cooled."

Back to the recipe he went. "Okay, bake at 165 degrees for 30 minutes, or until a toothpick poked in the middle comes out with fudgy crumbs... ooh, fudgy crumbs." He glanced around, then smacked his forehead. "I knew I was forgetting something... a baking pan!" A quick look upward showed him the rack of shining pots. "Where do they keep the baking pans?"

He huffed out an exasperated breath, and marched back into the pantry. "Ah, good. Here they are. Now, what size should I use?" Picking up each one, he examined it, looking for a size or some sort of identifying mark. He finally decided on a deep, battered, metal rectangle. "This one, I think. I seem to remember Grandma making brownies in this when I was a kid."

He poured the batter into his chosen vessel, then turned on the oven. "Good thing these models heat up so fast," he muttered as he watched the temperature climb. "This has taken long enough as it is."

When the oven's indicator buzzed, he slid the pan onto the rack and closed the door. "0334 hours. It should come out just after 0400." He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest, pleased with his accomplishment. Moments later, he unfolded his arms and lifted himself up to sit on the counter top. A squishy, crunching noise told him that he'd made a wrong move.

He swore and hopped down, wiping the eggshell from his shorts. Turning, he was suddenly reminded that "stealth" was a keyword of this operation. "Damn. I'd better get this stuff cleaned up or Grandma will know I've been here."

If there was one thing he'd learned while in training, it was how to get things clean. He wiped down the counter, washed all the dishes, and put everything he'd used away properly. All the while, he sniffed appreciatively at the enticing chocolate aroma that filled the kitchen. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

He was nearly finished with his task when he began to notice a decidedly acrid smell, as if something was burning. _Maybe the oven needs cleaning,_ he thought as he put the container of flour away. _But... that's not like Kyrano at all._ A slight haze in the air greeted him as he left the pantry, closing the door behind him. _Something's wrong. I'd better take a look._

He cautiously opened the oven door, and sprang backwards as billows of smoke poured out. The door fell open the rest of the way, and the smoke set off the detectors. His eyes watering, he tried to grab at the overflowing pan, only to burn his fingers. He swore again, loudly, and hurried to the sink to run cold water over his wounds. The smoke detectors' whine increased steadily, and he hacked as his lungs protested their abuse. _I am soooo dead!_ he thought, knowing what eventually would happen.

And it did. The kitchen door slid open and Jeff came rushing in. "What the hell?" he cried before the smoke began its work on his eyes and lungs. "Kyrano! Where's the damned fire extinguisher?!"

"Here it is!" The retainer coughed as he unerringly headed for the canister. He handed it off to Jeff and cried, "I will turn off the oven!"

"Be careful!" called Alan as he waved his way, coughing, into the smoke-filled kitchen. He grabbed an oven mitt and tossed it to the retainer. "Here!"

Kyrano nodded, and hurried forward to turn off the device, while Jeff aimed a stream of Brains's dicetyline at the spots of flame that flared from the bottom of the oven. Within seconds, the green foam had covered the interior, and the fire was out. Smoke continued to fill the kitchen, especially when Kyrano, both hands now protected, pulled out the overflowing pan.

"Virgil, get the medikit," Jeff said as he made his way to the sink.

"Yes, sir!" Virgil coughed as he made his way to the first aid box that sat next to the empty extinguisher bracket. He brought it over to the sink, where his father was examining the burns that the would-be baker had sustained.

"What in tarnation happened in here?" Grandma's voice, loud and clear, called from the doorway. She made her way inside and joined Kyrano to examine the burnt remains of the brownie mixture. The two cooks glanced at each other, then Eleanor turned and, hands on hips, cried, "What the hell did you think you were doing, Gordon Tracy?"

Scott arrived on the scene just in time to hear his younger brother, a bleak, half-hearted smile on his face, say, "Uh... baking brownies?"

xxxx

"Are you nervous?" Tin-Tin asked quietly as they sat together in the hotel's restaurant.

"A l-little," Brains admitted. "The idea of an intraocular l-lens being implanted is, uh, a bit unnerving."

Tin-Tin nodded. "I suppose it would be much like any other implant. Something foreign and unnatural added to the body... I'm glad I don't need or want any additions like that."

"M-Me, too," Brains said, glancing down as he pushed his poached egg around with a triangle of toast. "You're, uh, perfect the way you are."

Tin-Tin smiled a little. "That's sweet of you to say so. Thank you."

"It's just the, uh, truth," he replied, shrugging a little. He glanced at his watch. "T-Time to go."

"Do you want me to wait for you? In the reception room?"

"If you l-like. The surgery won't take very l-long. No more than, uh, a half hour."

She gave him an encouraging smile. "Then I'll wait. Perhaps I can read that book you bought and we can discuss it during lunch."

He chuckled, surprising her. "You may, uh, regret that decision – at least the d-discussion part."

"We'll see," she replied, challenge coloring her tone as she rose from her seat. "We'll see."

xxxx

"How was _I _supposed to know it was self-rising flour?" Gordon groused as he tried to scrub out the pan he'd used. "All the boxes in there look the same! None of them have identification tags or anything!"

"That's because Grandma, Kyrano, or even Tin-Tin are the ones who do the cooking, and they know which containers have what in them," Virgil said, trying to reason with his brother while wiping down the cabinets. "If you'd asked to do this when one of them was handy..."

"Grandma would have shot me down in a cold minute. No sweets, remember?" Gordon scowled at the pan. "And why do I have to scrub this out? I'm injured!" He held up a dripping hand, wrapped securely with bandages and covered with a clear, waterproof work glove.

"By rights you should be scrubbing _this_ out, burns or no burns," Scott said, indicating the oven. "Lucky for you Dad asked us to help out, or we wouldn't get a hot meal all day!" He wiped the back of his gloved hand across his brow. "I just hope it still works. We didn't test the dicetyline here." He shook his head and reached back inside. "How do you cook up..." He pulled back out when he heard Alan and Virgil snickering. "Let me rephrase that: how do you come up with stuff like this?"

"Hey, you were the one who made me think of it!" Gordon grumbled. "You and that 'fleeting idea' of yours."

"Don't blame me for your idiocy!" Scott shot back irritably. "I never said what my idea was, and I did mention that it was impractical anyway."

"You didn't _have_ to tell me what you were thinking, Scott. I could see it all in your face," Gordon replied sourly. "And if I hadn't come down here and been an idiot, you would have within a day or two."

"I might have come down here. I might even have done what you thought I was thinking of, but I most certainly wouldn't have been an idiot!" Scott gave a vicious rub to the stove door. "I should leave you here to finish this up!"

"Go ahead! I can't seem to get this damned pan clean. I might as well change jobs and actually accomplish something."

"Hey, guys, calm down!" Alan said, climbing down from the ladder where he'd been cleaning the ceiling tiles and lights. "Arguing is getting us nowhere." He put aside his equipment and went to the sink. "Let me see that." He took the pan from Gordon's hands and frowned as he saw how caked-on the mess was. "Hm. This is one of Grandma's antiques." He shook his head. "This is bad, Gords, really stuck on. It'll have to soak for a while." He glanced up at his brother with a questioning look. "Did you even grease the pan?"

The ensuing silence made both Scott and Virgil look over to the sink. Gordon gazed down at the pan with a puzzled expression, then back at Alan. "What do you mean, grease the pan?"

"Oh, God," Virgil muttered, passing a gloved hand over his face, smearing it with grimy soot.

Scott snorted and shook his head again. "And I thought _I _was bad in the kitchen."

xxxx

Tin-Tin tried to immerse herself in the book she'd borrowed, but found that she couldn't. She kept unconsciously glancing at her watch, waiting for the surgery to end. _I wonder what he will look like without his glasses. I've only seen him like that a handful of times_. She chuckled a little to herself. _I remember how he looked at the Swinging Star. No glasses, a truly awful wig, and that odd beard. I hope he doesn't end up looking like that again!_ Then she sobered. _What if something goes wrong? Would this blind him? That would be horrible! Oh, please, let this work out right!_

The minutes crept slowly by, and by the time forty-five minutes had passed, Tin-Tin felt ready to jump out of her seat. _I must be calm. He said the surgery would only take thirty minutes. I'm sure he had to wait for the doctor to set things up, and for perhaps some examination and instruction afterwards. There is a good reason why he is late; there must be!_

Nearly an hour had passed before the door to the reception area opened and Brains walked out. He was wearing dark glasses, and had a small bag in his hand. As he stopped to speak with one of the receptionists, Tin-Tin went to him.

"Brains, are you all right?" The dark glasses frightened her a little and made her fear the worst.

"P-Perfectly okay," he replied happily. "Let me make my, uh, follow-up appointment and we can l-leave."

"I'll get the car," she told him, clutching her purse and the book tightly to her chest.

"R-Right," he said stoutly, sounding much as he had at Lake Anasta. "I'll be out s-soon."

She nodded, a quick, nervous nod, then hurried out. As she reached the side of the car, she stopped, and allowed herself one deep, shaky breath. _Calm down, now. He's fine. He told you he's fine. Now, get in the car and go pick him up._

They were on their way back to their hotel when Tin-Tin finally got the courage to ask, "The surgery went well?"

"V-Very well!" he told her, smiling widely. "Everything went, uh, smoothly, and I should be fully recovered in just a couple of weeks."

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" she gushed, her fears finally subdued.

He pointed at the glasses. "My eyes are still a little anesthetized and, uh, dilated; that's why I have to wear the dark g-glasses." He hefted the bag. "I also have drops to use for the next t-ten days; they'll speed the h-healing along. But," here he made a face, "I'm to t-take it easy and not do anything that would raise my, uh, blood p-pressure."

"Like working on Braman?" she teased, feeling playful.

"_Especially_ working on, uh, Braman," he said glumly.

"I'm sure Mr. Tracy will insist you take some time off," she warned him. "He'll want you fully recovered and fit for duty."

"That's what J-John said," Brains admitted. He flipped down the sun visor. "H-He also suggested I do some, uh, reading. Perhaps out by the p-pool."

_John? I wonder what else John has suggested to him._ Out of the corner of her eye, Tin-Tin could see Brains pull open the little flap covering the lighted mirror. He removed the dark shades, and squinted at himself, then ran his fingers through his hair, trying to move it around. _I do believe he's preening!_ she thought, smiling in merriment. She glanced at him, narrowly missing his own quick look in her direction. _I would never have thought it!_

xxxx

"So, is the kitchen clean enough?" Jeff asked as he stepped inside and scanned the room.

"It is, Mr. Tracy. Your sons have done an admirable job," Kyrano replied, a small smile on his face.

"But what that boy did to my mother's old pan!" Eleanor said, coming out of the pantry with the item in question. She peered at it through her glasses. "I'm surprised he got it clean!"

"Maybe you'd better schedule some cooking lessons for the boys," Jeff suggested. "Especially Gordon and Scott. John and Alan have had to do some cooking from time to time in Thunderbird Five, and Virgil learned a few things while at Denver. But the other two probably spent more time in the mess halls than in cooking for themselves... or anyone else."

"I will see what can be arranged," Kyrano said.

"All right." Jeff turned to go, but before he reached the door, he said, "Let me know if the oven's working properly. If it isn't, Brains will have to take a look at it when he returns this evening."

"We'll let you know, Jeff," Eleanor promised.

He nodded, and left. Eleanor and Kyrano glanced at each other, and Eleanor said, "I'll try it out first. Since Gordon's so eager to have some brownies, I'll whip up a batch... with reduced fat and calories, of course."

"And I shall prepare luncheon," Kyrano told her. She nodded at him, and they both started their separate tasks.

xxxx

"So, you don't like this book, Brains?"

"It's not that I d-don't, uh, like it, so much as there's t-too much wrong with it." Brains and Tin-Tin were enjoying lunch at a small café not far from their hotel. "The writing is t-technically good, and the st-story draws you in, but there have been some advances in m-military technology that make the story unrealistic." He took a bite of his chicken, chewed, then asked, "Have you had an opportunity to, uh, read any of it?"

She colored a little. "I tried to at the doctor's office, but I was too wo... I mean, I was too distracted to really read it."

"Ah." He sipped his water. "Perhaps we should t-table our discussion until you c-can read it." He smiled broadly. "I wouldn't want to s-spoil the, uh, ending for you."

"Have you finished it already?" she asked, surprised.

"Uh, yeah. I finished it l-last night." He shrugged a little. "C-Couldn't sleep."

"You couldn't sleep?" When he nodded, she asked, "Why? Were you concerned about the surgery?"

"A little." _How do I tell her that I was more worried about her last night? And that I was kicking myself for not telling her how I feel?_ He sighed heavily, a sound that gave Tin-Tin the wrong impression.

"You must be exhausted, Brains. Perhaps you should go back to the hotel for a nap before we leave."

He shook his head. "I still n-need to see my orthodontist to get my first set of aligners fitted."

"Then perhaps you can rest on the way home."

"But Tin-Tin, you've d-done so much driving around. I was thinking I could, uh, pilot on the return trip."

She shook her head adamantly. "No, Brains. I will fly us home. You've had surgery, and no matter how insignificant that seems, it is still important that you rest." She reached across the table and put her hand on his. "Please. For me."

He turned his hand over and squeezed hers gently. "If you, uh, insist."

xxxx

"When are they due in?" Virgil asked Gordon, who was staring moodily out to sea.

"At six," Gordon said. He shook his head and turned to lean his back on the balcony rail. "I wonder what he'll look like without his glasses."

"You've seen him in the pool before," Virgil said, leaning on the rail, his fingers knit loosely together.

"Yeah, but his face has always been sort of... squinty then." Gordon folded his arms across his chest. "You know, because he couldn't see very well. Then he got those prescription goggles, and it was like he'd never taken his glasses off." He snorted a laugh. "Well, at least I can punch him out now if necessary."

"And why would you punch him out?" Virgil asked, a challenge in his voice.

"If he ever hurt her, I'd... well, I'd let him know my displeasure."

"You've got it bad, don't you?"

Gordon shot his older brother a look. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"That you've gotten... attached to Tin-Tin," Virgil said, choosing his words carefully. "She's become more than a friend."

There was a long pause, then Gordon blew out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, she has," he admitted. "I mean, at first we were just friends and having a good time. I wasn't even looking at her like that! But now, things have changed. On my side, at least. To her, I'm still just a good friend."

Virgil thought about Gordon's statement, then asked, "You think she's attracted to Brains?"

"Think? I _know_ she is. She's told me so herself. She just wishes she knew if he felt the same."

Virgil shook his head slowly. "That's some predicament. Have you told her how _you_ feel?"

Gordon was silent for a bit, then he turned around to mirror Virgil's position. "No, I haven't. I'm afraid of what might happen." He picked a little at the bandage on his hand. "I guess things should come to a head soon. I'll just have to be there to pick up the pieces."

"If there are any pieces to be picked up."

"Oh, there will be, Virge, mark my words. Because somewhere, sometime, someone's heart is going to be broken."


	6. Plateau: Mixed signals

_Author's note: _Finally my muse woke up on this one, and with a longish chapter. I'll try to get the rest done in a timely fashion. Warning: if you think reading Brains's stutter is bad, try adding a lisp onto it. The first is fandom tradition, the second I felt I needed to write out. According to the Invisalign site, a lisp a temporary side effect. Many thanks to Hobbeth for being a sounding board and for betaing.

_Disclaimer:_ I didn't create them; Gerry and Sylvia Anderson did. I don't own them; that honor goes to ITV/Granada. If you want to archive this elsewhere, please be polite and ask me first.

Enjoy,  
Tikatu

* * *

Tin-Tin glanced over at Brains, who sat morosely in the co-pilot's seat. "I'm sorry, Brains. I really didn't mean to laugh." 

"Of courth you d-did," Brains said, shaking his head sadly. "It'th, uh, ironic, really. Now not only do I have a thtutter, but I altho have a l-lithp."

"Didn't the doctor say that it would disappear as you got used to the aligners?"

"Yeth. And fortunately, I have to take them out to eat, uh, dinner. Tho the Trathyth won't be g-giggling at me."

"Oh, Brains, I truly am sorry," Tin-Tin repeated, sounding contrite.

"Oh, it'th all r-right, Tin-Tin," Brains replied, mustering up a smile. "I thuppothe I muth thound pretty, uh, funny, at that."

"You know, I can't even see them," she said, shaking her head. She reached out and patted his knee. "In six months or so you'll have a totally different smile." She sighed lightly. "Another thing to get used to, I suppose."

He glanced over at her, troubled, though he didn't exactly know why. After a moment, he turned his gaze back out over the sky. He was still wearing the dark glasses, but now, he sighed, a sharp intake of breath followed by a long, drawn out release.

Tin-Tin looked at him again. "Brains?"

"Everything'th tho _clear_," he said, gazing out the windshield. He turned a little to gaze down at the ocean far below. The swells were visible, an occasional white froth topping a wave. An island came into view – one of the Kermadecs, he noted. The shoreline was clear and sharp, and there were a number of little rocks studded around the island that he'd never noticed before. "Yethterday, when my eyeth were all d-dilated, I didn't notith any real, uh, differenth. But now, with my eyeth back to n-normal, I can _thee_. Really thee. No blurrineth at the edgeth of my, uh, lentheth." He shook his head in wonder. "What a w-wonderful thing: thight. Clear thight. I don't, uh, ever remember having it."

"Never?" Tin-Tin asked, frowning slightly.

"No. I've, uh, worn glatheth for ath long ath I can, uh, r-remember. They got thicker every, uh, year, it theemed." He shrugged slightly. "Now thothe d-dayth are g-gone." He smiled at her. "It'll feel, uh, odd to not be p-puthing them up my nothe."

"I'm sure you'll get used to it quickly." Tin-Tin smiled at him, then turned back to her piloting.

"I hope tho."

xxxx

"Did you bring anything back for us, Tin-Tin?" Scott asked quietly as he took the luggage from the cargo hatch.

"What do you mean?"

Scott glanced around as if he was afraid someone would hear him. "You know. Something to eat. A candy bar, a package of cookies..."

"Scott!" Tin-Tin looked and sounded affronted. "Why do you think I'd do that? To bring back sweets for you and your brothers would undermine all the good your grandmother is trying to do!" With a toss of her head and a little "hmph!" sound, she stalked off, passing Brains, who looked after her with a puzzled expression.

He turned back to Scott, who sighed heavily. "What wath, uh, that all about?"

His question got a different response than what he'd expected. Scott gave him an odd look, then said, "What did you say?"

It was Brain's turn to sigh. "I athked, 'what w-wath that all about?'. And, yeth, I have a l-lithp. The orthodontith thaid it would be, uh, t-temporary, until I got acclimated to the retainerth."

Scott blinked. "The _who_ said it would be temporary?"

Brains just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was safe to do so yet. "The orthodontith."

"Orthodontist?" When Brains nodded, Scott asked, "You went to an orthodontist? While you were in Sydney? Why?"

With exaggerated patience, Brains explained, "Why do people uthually go to an, uh orthodontith? To g-get their teeth thraightened."

"Why didn't you tell us you were doing that?" Scott asked, frowning slightly.

"I wanted it to be a, uh, thurprithe."

"Oh." Scott couldn't think of anything to say in response, so he decided to answer the original question. "Well, since you asked, _that_," he said, hooking a thumb in the direction Tin-Tin had taken, "was a missed opportunity. Unless...," he looked at Brains with a speculative eye, "unless you managed to bring some sweets back with you...?"

Brains shook his head slowly. "Thorry, Thcott. I didn't do any, uh, driving tho I had no chanth to b-buy any thweetth."

"Ah, I see." Scott hefted the two suitcases, leaving Brains to handle the one overnight bag Tin-Tin had brought with her. "So, how did everything else go? How are your eyes?"

"The thurgery was thucthethful," Brains lisped. "My thight ith, uh, better than ever. I'll thtill need to wear d-dark glatheth when out in the thun, but only for a thort, uh, time. I go back for my n-netht aligner in two weekth. My optometrith will thee me for a, uh, f-follow-up then."

"Two weeks." Scott sighed again. "I don't think I'll last two weeks without having something sweet," he said, his tone resigned and morose. "I'll just have to figure out a different way of getting my sugar fix."

xxxx

Brains sounded like himself at dinner, and he answered all the Tracys' questions about his eyes and told them about his teeth. From the corners of his eyes, he caught various members of the family glancing his way during the meal – and reveled in the fact that he could see out of those corners! Gordon looked his way the least of them; he was sitting next to Tin-Tin and kept her engaged in conversation throughout the meal. Even so, her gaze, too, strayed often across the table, until Gordon said or did something to draw her attention back.

At the end of the meal, Eleanor, a cheerful smile on her face, announced. "And now, in celebration of Brains's surgery being so successful, I have a special dessert!" The facial expressions around the table ranged from Jeff's delight, to Virgil's surprise, to Scott's cautious hope.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise! What do you have for us tonight, Mother?" Jeff asked.

"Brains's favorite: peach cobbler, with vanilla ice cream," she replied. "And no artificial sweeteners of any kind."

Scott's face went from cautious hope to an excited delight. "Oh, yeah!" he said as Kyrano placed a serving in front of him. "Thank you, Grandma!"

"You're welcome, Scott." Eleanor beamed. "Enjoy it."

"Why'd you decide to make this... well, normally?" Virgil asked as he picked up his spoon.

"Because it is a special occasion, Virgil," Eleanor explained. "And once in a while we can use a little sweetness. Just not all the time."

There were various murmurs of appreciation around the table. Brains patted his mouth with his napkin and said, "Thank you, M-Mrs. Tracy. I really, uh, enjoyed it! Very d-delicious."

"This was fantastic, Grandma!" Scott said, putting on his most charming smile. "Any chance of getting seconds?"

"Thank you, Scott, Brains. I'm glad you both enjoyed it so much. But..." Eleanor shook her head. "I'm afraid there's none left for seconds. I made just enough."

Scott sighed, then brightened. "Well, even so, it was great! Hope we get more like it again soon!"

xxxx

"It looks good on you."

John considered the face before him in the computer's screen, the blue eyes wide, the narrow face not scrunched up with squinting. He nodded slowly in approval. "Your face is more relaxed, and you've lost the sort of goggle-eyed look that the glasses gave you." He paused, then added wryly, "Of course, you have to learn to make eye contact a little more now..."

Startled, Brain glanced up at his friend's picture in his lab's computer screen, and smiled sheepishly. "I gueth tho," he lisped. "I'll be, uh, glad when my m-mouth geth acclimated to the, uh, alignerth. Maybe I'd better, uh, take them out..."

"No, no, leave them in. I can understand you just fine," John told him. "Get on the program and stick to the program if you want those pearlies straight. And the more you talk with them in, the faster you'll get used to them."

"I'll, uh, try to remember that."

"So, what's next?" John propped his chin up with one hand. "I see the hair is getting a little long there."

Brains ran a hand through his brown locks. "Y-Yeth, it ith. Lady Penelope thaid I thould wait t-two monthth, then come back to, uh, Fothleyheath and have it thyled. The, uh, trick will be holding Mithuth Trathy off that long."

John nodded. Eleanor was prone to giving hints - ones that carried the weight of command behind them - when she thought someone's hair was getting too long. Should the offender not take the hint and get to a barber, the reminders came more frequently and with greater volume, until Eleanor would threaten to cut the hair off herself. Since she had no skill at the task, whoever she was chivvying would usually make sure they got the job done post-haste. In fact, John had a standing appointment with his barber for the first Tuesday of every other month just to keep his grandmother happy.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something, Brains. And if push comes to shove, you can always ask Penny to run interference. She'd be able to reason with Grandma." John leaned forward now, and lowered his voice. "What about the stutter?"

"I'm not, uh, thure what to do about it." Brains shook his head slowly. "I had, uh, thpeeth therapy when I wath a b-boy." He made a face. "It didn't help muth."

"Really?" John's handsome face creased with a frown. "I'd heard speech therapy is usually very effective."

"I know," Brains said with a sigh. "I don't know why it, uh, didn't help me."

A brief memory surfaced of the speech therapist, her nasal tones grating on his ear as she worked with him. She had been doing her best, he knew now, but, looking back, he felt she probably wasn't trained to work with stutterers. She had been appointed by the school system, had been likely overworked and underpaid, and he'd been in the orphanage. Who really cared for kids in that situation? he wondered. With a quick shake of his head, he dispelled the thoughts, and focused again on his friend.

"If I go through, uh, thpeeth therapy again, it will t-take monthth, perhapth, uh, yearth," he said. "I don't know if I have that muth, uh, time."

"Why do you say that?" John asked, sitting up suddenly, his eyes narrowing a bit. "As I recall, you said your goal is to make you into a 'chick magnet', right? Why would there be a time limit on that?"

Brains opened his mouth to explain, but remembered that he'd insisted his makeover had nothing to do with Tin-Tin. He wrestled for a moment with whether or not to tell his friend the truth. _I'm sure John has seen Gordon and Tin-Tin together; he's not blind. I won't make him choose between me and his brother._

"Well, I _do_ have a t-target date: Lady Penelope'th next New Year'th Eve party." He smiled at John, which made his lips feel weird as they drew back over the aligners. "I thpent too muth time on the, uh, thidelineth at the lath one."

John's face cleared. "Ah, you didn't tell me that. Still, it would give you a good ten months, provided you found the therapist and got an appointment quickly. That would help, wouldn't it?" His eyes widened and he grinned. "In fact, Dad might even have an agent who could oblige."

Brains blinked; the thought of his employer knowing a speech therapist hadn't occurred to him. "You think tho?"

"You can always ask."

The engineer gave it a bit of thought, then shook his head. "I'd have to, uh, reveal my retholuthion to your father, and I d-don't want to, uh, do that. I'll thee who the local thuttering advocathy group hath on their, uh, webthite." He made a face. "Probably thould g-get rid of thith lithp firth."

His dry comment made John laugh. "Yeah, that might be a good idea."

xxxx

"So, how was the trip?" Gordon asked. He and Tin-Tin were walking on the beach, feet bare, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm.

Tin-Tin sighed. "Everything went well. The surgery took about an hour all told, and I'm afraid I laughed at him on the way back."

"Why is that?" Gordon's voice showed polite interest, nothing more.

Looking down, she shook her head, smiling sheepishly. "The aligners... they make him lisp. I'm sure you'll hear it at some point before he gets used to them."

"Yeah, I'm sure I will."

There was a long pause as they walked along. The moon spread a silver pathway over the swells, and the waves made a quiet swishing as they reached for the shore, and receded, having missed their imaginary target.

"So," Gordon ventured again. "Did you do anything fun? It would have been a shame to go to Sydney and not done something enjoyable."

"We had lunch together, and discussed a book he picked up to read. It was interesting, hearing him talk about something other than the latest scientific advances. He had a lot of good points to make about the book. I felt like we were back at Lake Anasta, talking about temples and treasure instead of engine torque and fuel ratios."

She paused, then added, "We also went to a club and danced. I enjoyed myself, but..."

"But what?" Gordon gently coaxed, thinking as he did, _If he's hurt her, he'll need more than aligners to fix his teeth!_

She stopped in her tracks and turned her face to him, the moonlight at her back throwing her face into shadow. "I asked him to tell me why he was doing all this, and joking, suggested he was doing it for a girl."

"And?" Gordon asked, wondering both what the reply and the reaction would be.

"And he said he was! He's doing all this for a special girl!" Implicit in her manner and tone was the idea, _And it isn't me! _She folded her arms, stomped a foot in the sand, and huffed out an indignant, "Hmph! Men!"

Gordon stifled a laugh at her pique. Taking her by the upper arms, he grinned at her, his face illuminated by the moonlight. "You know we're not _all_ like that, Tin-Tin."

She went "Hmph!" again. "No, I suppose you're right. Not all." There was a pause, and she added, "Just the vast majority."

This time he laughed, and after a moment she broke her pose and laughed with him. He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. To his surprise, she slipped her arm around his waist, drawing them together even more. A tension that he hadn't even been aware of eased, and daring, he planted a soft kiss in her hair.

"Let's finish our walk," she said. "The moon is so beautiful tonight."

"Yeah. It is, isn't it?"

As they walked along, Gordon's thoughts turned to what Tin-Tin had just revealed. _I think I should have a few words with Brains anyway. If there __**is**__ another special girl, then we all need to know. Tin-Tin isn't the only one with something at stake here."_

xxxx

**January 22**

Eleanor picked up the piece of thawed pie. "Let's see how this tastes now."

Kyrano did the same, slicing a bite off with a fork, and sliding it into his mouth. He looked thoughtful, then a subtle change came over his face. He glanced up and saw Eleanor wearing a far more obvious version of his disgusted look.

"I do not think this will work, Mrs. Tracy," he said. He took another bite to confirm his assessment. "No, most definitely not."

"I agree, Kyrano." Eleanor shook her head as she dumped the remainder of the chocolate cream pie into the garbage disposal. "I had hoped these new dessert recipes would freeze well for transport and storage on Thunderbird Five. But it seems that cryofreezing it does something to the substitutes I'm using... I wish I knew what it was!"

Kyrano followed her example, then put both sets of dishes into the autowasher. "We could perhaps ask Mr. Brains if he would perform an analysis. He might discover why..."

Eleanor shook her head. "No, let's not bother him with this. I'll just have to try something else."

The retainer shook his head. "If I may be so bold, Mrs. Tracy, perhaps you should return to the recipes that you know will do well in the cryofreezing process," he said in his gentle tones.

"But that would mean breaking my resolution," Eleanor said, folding her arms and frowning.

Kyrano smiled softly. "No, Mrs. Tracy, it would not. Your resolution was to make fewer desserts. And you could continue with that resolve, no matter how you prepare them."

Eleanor took in a sharp breath and huffed it out through her nose. "Hmph." Glancing over at the now admittedly unappetizing-looking pie, she turned to pick it up. "I'm not willing to give up yet, Kyrano." She began feeding the thawed dessert to the garbage disposal. "Back to the drawing board." She glanced up at the clock. "We'd better get lunch started. It's nearly eleven o'clock."

"Yes, Mrs. Tracy." Kyrano put the pie plate in the autowasher, then went to the refrigerator to begin lunch preparations.

xxxx

"Any sign of them?" Scott, clad in his yellow and blue dive suit, leaned over Thunderbird Four's command chair.

"Not yet." Gordon frowned as he consulted his sonar readouts. Not long after breakfast, they'd been called out to locate and rescue an undersea mapping expedition off the south-eastern coast of Africa, in the midnight-dark waters between Mozambique and Madagascar. "Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird Four, do you have the coordinates of those wrecks for me?"

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Four," John replied. "Downloading them to your guidance computer now."

"F-A-B." Gordon glanced over at the computer generated map of the area, noting the black dots that denoted shipwrecks, then looked back at his sonar screen.

"You think they might have tangled with a wreck?" Scott asked, still peering over his brother's shoulder.

"It's possible. There are a good number of them down here, some dating back to World War Two. But they've all been marked by salvage divers over the years. The area they're supposed to be surveying has at least two, both of which would have to be moved or destroyed... if they're not designated as war graves." Gordon shook his head. "I can't imagine a survey team going down without that kind of information."

"Makes me wonder if this is some fly-by-night concern," Scott groused. "The developers of this undersea colony might be trying to cut corners."

"True. Might be why it took them so long to call us in," Gordon admitted. "But right now, our concern is finding the submersible and rescuing its crew." A ping sounded in the cockpit, and he straightened in his seat. "I think... yeah. We've got them. Base from Thunderbird Four. We've found the submersible and are moving in."

"F-A-B." Jeff's voice came in over the speaker. "Be careful, boys."

"F-A-B, base," Gordon replied. He glanced up at Scott. "Better strap in. I'm going to put on some speed."

Scott nodded and headed for the pull-down seat at the back of the cockpit.

In the lounge, Jeff lifted his coffee cup and took a sip. Lunch preparations were still underway to feed those left behind, and he expected Kyrano to bring a tray to him in the lounge at any moment. Alan, who was not the best of divers, was coordinating things, while Scott double teamed with Gordon in Thunderbird Four. Virgil, after dropping Thunderbird Four off, had retrieved the pod, and had joined Alan and Thunderbird One on Europa Island. Jeff was relieved on one particular: Europa Island was all but uninhabited; it was late, and they'd gained permission from the Madagascar authorities to land there. So there would be no problem with crowds or security hazards.

Tin-Tin was in the lounge as well, pacing. To Jeff's eye, the only time she'd been quite this tense was when Alan and Eleanor had been left on the San Miguel bridge to die. Then she'd been upset as well, tears coming easily. This time, though, she was wound up like a spring, sitting down for a few moments, then jumping up again to walk quietly to the windows and look out. Then, just as suddenly, turning on a heel to walk the length of the room again. It was getting on his nerves, and Jeff decided to put a stop to it.

"Tin-Tin."

The girl looked up, startled. "Yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"If you can't sit still, why don't you find something constructive to do? See if Brains is in the lab and shoo him out if he is." The words came out sharper than he intended, but he made no effort to mitigate them.

Tin-Tin stared at him, blinking. Then she gathered a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, saying, "Yes, Mr. Tracy." Without another word or backward glance, she left the room, closing the grillwork door to the study carefully as she passed.

Jeff shook his head. "At least now I can concentrate," he muttered. Turning back to the wall of portraits, he called, "Thunderbird One from Base, status report!"

Tin-Tin walked down to the lab as ordered, the sting of Jeff's words making her frown with displeasure. _I didn't mean to be a distraction, but Gordon..._ She shook her head, her frown turning the corner into a worried look. _I'll admit it; I'm worried about him. But why Gordon? I've never felt this concerned for him before. For Alan, yes, when we were dating. But not Gordon... until now. _She shook her head again as if to clear it._ Then there's Brains_, _who has found himself another woman._ _Why couldn't it be me?_ she silently fumed. _We've been such good friends, and so close..._ _why can't he at least be honest and tell me who it is? _She bit down hard on her lower lip. "Men!" she muttered as she stepped into the monorail car.

By the time she reached the lab, her stomach was tied up in knots, and the frown looked as if it might take up permanent residence on her pretty face. The light on the door was green, signaling not only that it was safe to enter, but also that someone was inside. This only added to her ire. _Here he is, working when he should be on sick leave! I think it's time we had things out about this other woman._

Striding purposefully to the door, she slapped her hand on the scanner. The doors slid apart, showing Brains at his computer, his phone to his ear and conversing with someone. She stared for a few moments trying to decide what was wrong with the picture. Then it hit her; the computer screen wasn't reflected in his glasses. He glanced over at her, smiling, and for a split second, it was like looking at a stranger.

Then he spoke, and the world shifted back to familiar again... more or less.

"Yeth, I'll, uh, be there. I'm l-looking forward to it. Goodbye." He ended the call and tucked the phone away in the pocket of his new lab coat. "H-Hello, Tin-Tin. How is the, uh, rethcue going?"

Tin-Tin took a deep breath, and found the wind taken completely out of her sails. Her anger blunted, she waved a hand distractedly as she sat down at her own workstation. "Well enough, I suppose. Gordon had found the submersible before Mr. Tracy..." She took a deep breath and balled her fists up in her lap.

Concerned, Brains came over to where she was sitting. "Before Mr. Trathy what?"

She rolled her eyes, and took another deep breath, letting it out in a huff. "Oh, I don't know... it's so stupid!" The words came out in a rush. "I was worried about Gordon and was pacing the room and that made Mr. Tracy angry so he sent me down here and... and..." She raised her eyes to the man before her, his expression of concern looking different, clearer yet smaller, as if the lack of magnification made it actually change and the concern behind it was lessened. "Oh, Hiram!" She shook her head, exasperated.

"Wh-Why don't you go up to the kitchen and have thome, uh, tea," he suggested. "I'm sure the r-rethcue will be over thoon and Gordon will, uh, return thafely." He made a face, shaking his head for emphasis. "Thith lithp is driving me, uh, crazy! I can hardly w-wait until I'm uthed to these aligners!"

Tin-Tin looked down and blew out a long breath. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. And tea does sound like a good idea. Thank you... Brains." She gave him a slight smile. "You're not lisping quite as badly as you were."

Brains rubbed his ear sheepishly, suddenly realizing what he wasn't feeling back there, and smiled. "You're, uh, right. It'th not as bad. I theem to be getting the 'z' thound out." He shrugged, then took her hand and raised her to her feet. "I'll walk you b-back to the, uh, monorail."

"Thank you."

As he handed her into the little car, she gave him a small frown. "Now, Brains, aren't you supposed to be on sick leave?"

"Y-Yeth, I am," he replied, startled.

"Then why are you down in the lab working?" The frown dissolved into a concerned look. "You know Mr. Tracy wouldn't like it."

"I'm not, uh, working, Tin-Tin. J-Juth doing a bit of rethearch on a, uh, perthonal matter. I'll be finithed thoon." He glanced back at the lab. "In fact, if you're, uh, willing to wait, I can c-come with you." He backed away from the car, making motions with his hands, indicating she should stay where she was. "Be right back."

He ducked back into the lab, and hurried over to his computer. The window showing the International Stuttering Federation's website was still up, as was the one advertising the speech therapist he'd decided was his first choice. The man, Dr. Morgan Lattimer, was in Sydney, and Brains hoped he could continue his therapy via vid hook-up after a face-to-face consultation and interview. If not, there would be the hassle of flying back and forth on a weekly basis for a while. _If he wasn't so highly recommended, I would have looked for someone in New Zealand,_ Brains mused as he minimized both windows, and put the computer into hibernation mode. _I guess we'll see how things go on that initial visit._ He peeled off his lab coat, hanging it up in his locker, remembering belatedly to remove his phone. Then he left, turning out the lights, and setting the security system.

"And here I am," he said with satisfaction as he entered the car. "That didn't, uh, take long, did it?"

"No, it didn't," Tin-Tin admitted.

He started the monorail car on its way, a silence settling between them. Suddenly, she straightened and gave Brains a small smile. "What are your plans for today, Brains?"

"Well, after lunch, I thought I m-might thpend thome time by the pool, reading," here he grimaced, "a good book." He paused, suddenly remembering John's suggestion that he learn a new sport. "Though, m-maybe we could do thomething together. You could teach me to, uh, play t-tennith."

"Tennis?" Tin-Tin gave him a puzzled look. "You've never wanted to play tennis before."

"Well, it'th never been, uh, convenient to learn," Brains explained, trying to sound nonchalant. "I haven't had any, uh, thport glathes you thee. Now, I d-don't need them."

Tin-Tin considered this for a moment, then smiled apologetically. "It's a wonderful idea, Brains, but I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for tennis right now. Perhaps another time."

"O-Okay, another time," Brains agreed.

The monorail came to a halt at the elevators that would take them up to the house proper. Brains held out his hand to help her from the car, a courtesy that Tin-Tin acknowledged with a gracious nod. They rode the lift up in silence; Tin-Tin trying to make sense of her feelings, while Brains, respecting her mood, mentally planned for the rest of his day. When the car stopped, he made an ushering gesture, allowing her to alight first. "I'll thee you at, uh, lunch," he said, giving her an encouraging smile.

"Yes, see you then," she said as she walked off down the hallway.

Though their rooms were close to one another's, Brains waited until she was well out of sight before making his way to his suite. _I was feeling a bit awkward with her there in the elevator. I don't think it's happened before, at least, not that I can remember._ He sighed. _So, she's worried about Gordon. And here I thought this was a routine rescue. Perhaps I'd better find out what's going on._ He ran his tongue around his aligners. _It will be lunchtime soon; I'll take these out now and be prepared._

Tin-Tin continued her walk through the dining room and into the kitchen. It was full of wonderful smells, and her stomach rumbled at the enticing aromas. Eleanor was putting the final touches on a tray. "Hello, Tin-Tin. Lunch will be ready to serve in just a few minutes," she said, a kindly smile on her face.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tracy. I'm looking forward to it," Tin-Tin said, returning the smile. "May I speak with my father? Privately?"

Eleanor looked across the room at Kyrano, who was loading up the autowasher with a few pots and pans. He met her gaze, and she nodded. "Of course. I'll just take this up to Jeff myself, and tell Brains that lunch is almost ready. You two talk as long as you like, and let me know when you're finished."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tracy," Tin-Tin murmured. She helped Eleanor put the tray on a cart, and held the door open for her. Then she turned to her father, who had started the machine, and was washing his hands.

"I will make some tea," Kyrano said, drying his hands then setting the kettle on the stove. As the water heated, he took out the teapot and cups. Tin-Tin moved to help him, setting the small table where he usually ate his meals after serving the family. When all was ready, they sat down together, and Kyrano poured the tea.

"What is troubling you, my daughter?" he asked.

Tin-Tin sipped her tea, gathering her thoughts. She knew her father would be direct; he was always one to confront a problem, though his ways of doing so were gentle, and involved getting to the heart of a matter without recriminations. Finally she put the cup down. "I'm confused, Father. Today, while in the lounge, listening to the rescue, I found myself very... concerned. Worried. For Gordon in particular. It was the same anxiousness I often felt for Alan when he was in danger. It affected me to the point that I was a distraction to Mr. Tracy, and he asked me to leave the room."

One of Kyrano's bushy eyebrows went up. "Indeed, that is most unlike you."

"He sent me down to the lab to see if Brains was there. I did, and he was. Not working, he said, but I heard the end of a phone conversation that sounded as if he'd made an appointment with someone." She sighed. "I wondered if it might be... might be a friend... a lady... a lady-friend." She shook her head. "While we were away, I asked him if he were doing all this – straightening his teeth, getting rid of his glasses, updating his wardrobe – for a special girl." She took a sip of tea, turning the cup around in her hands. "He said he was." Looking up at her father with a stricken look on her face, she cried, "I don't know what to do, Father, or what to say! Brains has always been so kind to me; we've been so close, even when I was dating Alan. Now Gordon... he's become special, too! I'm afraid I'm losing Brains, and I'm afraid I'm falling for Gordon! And..." she looked down again, "I don't know if I want that."

Kyrano listened patiently to his daughter's tale, then refreshed his tea. He sat quietly for a few moments, turning her words, and the feelings behind them, over in his mind. Then he reached across and put a gentle hand on hers.

"Daughter, I cannot pretend to know the hearts of these young men. I can only tell you what I see. In Mr. Gordon, I see a young man who is becoming greatly attached to you. First as a friend, and now, perhaps as something more. As for Mr. Brains, he has always been fond of you, and I believe will always be." He reached out to raise Tin-Tin's face up until their eyes met, and smiled softly. "Ask yourself this one question: could it be that the special girl for whom Mr. Brains is making these alterations is you, yourself?"

"If it is, then why didn't he tell me so?" Tin-Tin asked, pleading for understanding.

Kyrano shook his head. "I do not know, my Tin-Tin. I suggest you remain patient, and allow yourself the time to know their intentions, and your own heart. You do not have to make any decisions today, or even tomorrow, dear one. Patience, and all will be made clear."

Tin-Tin sighed deeply. "You're right, Father, as always. Thank you for listening, and for your advice. I'll try to be patient with them, and with myself."

"I am glad to hear it." He finished his tea. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

"No, Father, there isn't."

"Then I must tell Mrs. Tracy we are finished, and that lunch is ready to be served." With a slight groan, Kyrano rose to his feet. "My old bones protest too much, I think," he quipped.

Tin-Tin helped him clear the table, truly seeing for the first time how slowly her father moved toward the stove. _He's getting older,_ she mused, the thought painful. _Soon he'll be gone, then what will I do?_


	7. Step 5: Interests

_Author's note: _Trying to get my WIPs cleaned up, starting with what should be the shortest of them. Betareading by ArtisticRainey and Hobbeth.

_Disclaimer: _I don't own the canon characters, I'm just writing about them. Please do not copy this story without my consent. If you add this to aC2 community, please drop me a line. I'd like to know**. **I may be reached at my email of record. _Any and all original characters are mine and may not be used without my express written consent. _

Enjoy

Tikatu

* * *

It was well after dinner before the boys returned. Alan and Virgil were tired, but still wakeful. Scott and Gordon, on the other hand, were exhausted.

"Damn fools got their submersible fouled in one of the old fiber optic communications cables," Gordon grumbled as he took a seat at the dinner table. "It was tough going separating the two without cutting the cable. Some parts of the west African coast still depend on it."

"I still think they're a fly-by-night concern." Scott took a long drink of the water set before him, and asked for a refill. "Might do some good to look at them a little closer. Give the officials in the area a heads up."

"That's not our responsibility, Scott," Jeff said, settling in with a fresh cup of coffee. He had eaten his dinner in the lounge, but he wanted to debrief his sons while they ate. Their memories of the events would be fresh, and it would get the rescue out of their systems.

"I'm not so sure, Father," Virgil spoke up from his place at the table. He paused to serve himself a huge helping of vermicelli, then passed the bowl to Scott. "If they really are a questionable operation, we could be fielding rescue calls from them again – after the colony is built and settled. Looking into their business practices could save us some grief later."

Jeff took a sip of his coffee, and looked thoughtful. "You may have a point there, Virgil. I'll take it under consideration."

Alan ladled a fair serving of meatballs and marinara sauce on top of his pasta before passing the bowl to Virgil. "It was pretty quiet on Europa – after we convinced the military garrison there that we had permission to set up shop."

"Didn't they get the message from the Mozambique officials?" Tin-Tin pulled out a chair and sat down, laying her data pad down on the table.

"Yeah, they did, but not before a patrol came out to see what we were up to." Alan dug his fork into the mass of thin spaghetti and turned it around and around, then speared a piece of meatball. His cheeks bulged as he put the whole forkful into his mouth.

"That's what the base is there for," Gordon said, wiping small splatters of sauce from his cheeks. "To keep people from squatting there, and to man the lighthouses and meteorological stations. It is a nature preserve, after all."

"I think they would have come out anyway, just to say they'd seen a Thunderbird. After the patrol went away, all we had for visitors were the goats," Alan said with a snort.

"Hey, Tin-Tin?" Scott set down his glass again. "Would it be feasible to alter Thunderbird Four's gripping arm? Put some joints in it? Make it a pair?" He waved his hands a little. "Maybe give it a hand-like motion that responds to our movements."

Gordon shot his brother a look. "That might be fine if there are two of us on board, but with just me..."

"Gords, you have to admit that having a more hand-like appendage instead of a claw would have been helpful on this last rescue." Scott reached for the basket of garlic bread. "Untangling that cable from the submersible would have been a lot easier."

Virgil cut in. "Why don't you ask Brains about it? He'd know if it were feasible."

"Hey, where is Brains, anyway?" Alan asked, glancing around.

"He ate dinner with Mrs. Tracy and me earlier," Tin-Tin said, making notes of Scott's request on her pad. "I'm not sure where he went after dinner."

"He's on sick leave, remember?" Virgil wiped up the sauce on his plate with a piece of garlic bread. "He's probably resting."

"More likely he's reading one of those books or magazines he brought back," Gordon said, shaking his head. "Why he's getting into the _Hollywood Report_, I'll never understand."

"He told me it's so we can better deal with the media," Jeff said dryly. "Don't believe a word of it, myself." He took a sip of his coffee. "Brains was never very good at lying."

"Then why is he so interested in it?" Alan asked. He grated some Parmesan cheese over his second helping of pasta. "It doesn't make any sense."

Tin-Tin frowned, the expression putting a little V between her eyebrows. She didn't know whether or not to tell the Tracys what she knew about Brains's actions. _Whoever this girl is, she's interested in Hollywood and celebrities. Does that mean she's shallow and impressed with looks? Maybe that explains why he's trying to look less like a... nerd._

"Tin-Tin?"

Gordon's voice penetrated her thoughts. She started a little, then took a sharp breath and gave him a weak smile.

"Yes, Gordon?"

"Are you all right? You had an awfully deep frown on your face."

Now all the Tracys were looking at her, waiting for her answer. She forced a wider smile and shook her head. "I'm all right. I was just trying to think of a reason why Brains would be interested in the Hollywood news."

"Did you come up with anything?" Jeff asked.

She shook her head. "Not really."

Gordon frowned a little, remembering what she had told him about Brains's reason for the changes. He debated mentioning it to his father and brothers, but decided against it. _Better let it play out without interference. We'll know for sure soon what his real intentions are... and where his affections really lie._

Virgil finished his spaghetti, and forked up the last bit of meatball. "Great dinner, Kyrano."

The retainer smiled and inclined his head. "Thank you, Mr. Virgil."

"Yeah, great food, Kyrano." Scott wiped his mouth. "Any chance for dessert?"

"Indeed, Mr. Scott. Mr. Gordon's foray into the kitchen the other morning encouraged Mrs. Tracy to find a new recipe for brownies. I will fetch them."

"I bet they're low carb and low fat," Alan said, grimacing.

"And low taste, too," Gordon moaned.

"Now, boys, you know that your grandmother wouldn't serve you something she thought tasted bland. She's just looking out for our health." Jeff straightened. "I haven't had my dessert yet, so I'll have another cup of coffee and join you."

Kyrano returned with a tray of deep bowls, each filled with a large slab of brownie, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and crisscrossed with a light drizzle of chocolate sauce. A foamy swirl of whipped cream topped each confection, its resemblance to a mountain's snowy peak marred by the bright red of a maraschino cherry.

"This looks good, Kyrano," Virgil said, his tone approving. He plucked the cherry off the top of his dessert and pulled it from its stem with his teeth. When he'd finished eating it, he said, "They haven't found a way to make these low cal or sugar free, have they, Kyrano?"

"No, Mr. Virgil, they have not." Kyrano beamed at the comment. "And I have not yet found a way to whip cream for such a use without a little bit of sugar. However, Mrs. Tracy approved of both."

Alan took his bowl from the retainer and looked at it. "I bet the ice cream and chocolate sauce are to make up for the brownies, too."

"The ice cream is also of a low-fat and low-calorie variety, one that has been popular for many years," Kyrano explained as he served Scott. "The chocolate sauce was made from a recipe using sugar substitutes."

"Aren't you having any, Tin-Tin?" Gordon asked.

She shook her head. "I had some with dinner. It was delicious."

Scott gazed at the bowl for a long moment, then took up his spoon and cut off a corner of the brownie. He put it in his mouth, tasting it, a slight frown on his face. Virgil and Gordon both watched him, curious.

His face brightened; he made an "mmm" noise, then dug his spoon in with gusto. "I don't know what recipe Grandma found for these brownies, but it's a really, really good one. Almost as good as the real thing!"

Jeff chuckled. "Well, nice to see this gets Scott's seal of approval." The others around the table echoed Jeff's laugh; then there was quiet, except for an occasional appreciative grunt. As the Tracy men ate, Tin-Tin slipped away, data pad in hand. But she did not leave unnoticed. A pair of amber eyes watched her leave, and their owner decided to track her down once he'd finished dessert and debriefing.

xxxx

Tin-Tin found herself back in the lab, which was empty. She'd half-expected to find Brains there, working on something or going over the logs downloaded from each Thunderbird that had taken part in the rescue. _It seems as if he's taking the sick time mandate seriously_. With a tap of a key, she brought her own computer to life and transferred Scott's request. She knew that Brains had actually been researching something similar for use in Braman; it had been determined that the robot needed a finer touch to function properly in Thunderbird Five. Still, it had been a back-burner, look-at-it-when-you-have-time issue, and Tin-Tin doubted that Brains had even touched his research since arriving back from Foxleyheath.

_Then again, he's not really had time to do that, has he? Not between the various doctor visits and all._ She sighed, glancing at his computer station. Something white caught her eye, and curious, she left her computer to see what it was. For all his personal inattentiveness – _make that past inattentiveness_, she thought – Brains was usually a very tidy person. He put things away, and kept his workspaces clean.

The item in question was one of the scratch pads that Brains liked to keep around. He used them for sketching out ideas, and writing out complex equations that he wanted to ponder. This page had a few odd doodles on it, and a name: "Morgan L. Sydney". The name was underlined once but the date below it, February 22 11 a.m., was underlined three times.

"Morgan Sydney?" she muttered. "Who is that?"

Her musings were interrupted by the lab door swishing open. Turning, she saw Gordon standing in the doorway, looking around with an uncertain expression on his face. Leaving the pad, she made her way toward him; his face brightened with a smile.

"I saw you duck out and wanted to make sure everything was all right," he said, following her back to her computer.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to get Scott's idea into the system so that Brains could have a look at it." She reread what was on the computer screen, then flagged it with a priority tag, and saved the file. "It's a good idea, and right along the lines of something Brains has been looking at for Braman."

"Ah, okay." Gordon seemed a bit ill at ease there in the lab. There was a silence between them for a moment as Tin-Tin put her computer back into hibernation. "Y'know, I'm still wound up a bit from the rescue. Would you like to take a walk with me on the beach? Help me get really tired so I can sleep?"

Tin-Tin gave him another smile as she put her data pad into the charger. "Funny, I thought you and Scott both looked ready to collapse into your spaghetti... or your dessert."

"Yeah, well, the prospect of actually having dessert made me perk up, and having it taste great gave me an added bit of energy," Gordon said with a grin. He held up his elbow in a show of formal politeness. "What do you say?"

She turned from the charger and slipped her hand under his elbow. "If it will help you sleep better, then I'd be happy to take a walk with you."

Gordon smiled, and patted her hand. He gestured to the lab door. "Then let's go."

xxxx

In his suite, Brains was reading up on the latest musical groups. He had never been much interested in music, even though Tin-Tin usually played some in the lab. The first time she'd done it, he'd found it distracting, but he soon found that tuning it out greatly increased his focus on the work at hand. He also found that, though he'd tuned it out, an impression of it still remained in his mind. He couldn't tell one artist or band from another, and likely couldn't put a title to a song, but he knew all the words and could sing along – if he dared.

However, he'd never discovered a style of music that he himself liked. So now he was thumbing through the magazine, _Musical Variety_, searching idly for the names of groups. When he found one that sounded interesting, he went looking for their music on his personal computer and listened to a representative track or two. The list of groups that pleased him was short so far; the list of single songs a bit longer. He was surprised at how many current songs he knew from tuning them out in the lab.

"Hm. Here's a list of, uh, new orchestral recordings." He flitted through the reviews, looking for a likely candidate. "This sounds interesting."

He turned his attention to the web search, then adjusted his headphones and sat back to listen to the samples provided. The music brought him upright again; it was rich and the harmonies were closely intertwined, providing a thrill that ran up and down his spine. It was the strongest response he had ever had to music, and it both startled and bothered him.

"Why haven't I, uh, noticed this before?" he muttered when the piece was over. The next sample didn't evoke the same level of thrill as the first had, but he found it haunting and beautiful. With a nod, he added the album name to his list of music to purchase. "I'll ask Virgil t-tomorrow if he's heard of this orchestra, or this composer." He shook his head. "It seems I've m-missed a lot by burying my head in the, uh, technical side of life."

xxxx

The following days found Brains's lisp disappearing, and his interest in things outside of science and engineering burgeoning. He cornered Virgil to discuss music; the pianist was surprised to find that Brains was developing a taste for sweeping, dramatic classical music. He grabbed Alan to learn the finer points of tennis, and when next invited to play with Gordon and Tin-Tin, he and the youngest Tracy made it a game of doubles. He sat in on a game of snooker with Scott and Jeff, then asked for instruction in playing pool. He even made an appearance in the kitchen, asking for pointers on cooking from Kyrano and Eleanor. He wasn't exactly a stranger there, having helped out on occasion during holiday meals, but felt he could learn to make more complicated dishes – or so he told them.

"Brains is certainly taking advantage of his sick leave," Virgil remarked to his father one afternoon. "Tin-Tin says he's hardly been down to the lab all week."

"Yes, I noticed that." Jeff sounded a little bit sour as he put down the latest issue of _Kine_. "It's not that I begrudge him the time off, but I was hoping he'd rest more and be back to work after a week or so. His follow up visit with the ophthalmologist isn't until February eleventh and somehow I don't think I can require him back to work until then."

"Maybe you can suggest he ease back in by working half-days?" Virgil opened the piano bench to find a piece of music to play. "We really need his help with the Thunderbirds' maintenance."

"I'll suggest it... or better yet, have John suggest it when he gets home tomorrow. That way it won't look like I'm mandating his return to work." Jeff shook his head. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if it were anyone else; any other employee would have been back to working full-time already. But since it's Brains..."

"And he takes so little time off as it is..."

"Yes. Exactly."

Jeff picked up his magazine again, while Virgil settled himself at the piano, doing some scales and finger exercises to warm up before playing the piece he'd chosen.

**February 1**

"S-So," Brains said as he waited for John in the latter's suite. "How was your, uh, flight?"

"It was fine, though I didn't expect Alan to come up so early," John called from his bedroom, his voice muffled momentarily as he pulled a polo shirt over his head. "There was a bit of a glitch with the hydraulic couch, though. You might want to look at it."

"What kind of, uh, glitch?" Brains flipped idly through a magazine from the pile of mail that waited for John.

"A bit of a shudder when the hydraulic arm linked with the couplings. Normally I don't notice a thing." John brought his loafers out to the sitting room and settled on his favorite arm chair. "Could be because it wasn't used at all last month."

"C-Could be," Brains agreed. He was absorbed in the article he'd found. John, now properly shod, stood and looked over his friend's shoulder.

"Ah, yes. Irina Kovaleski, the latest wonder child of the astronomy world. Nice looking, isn't she?"

Brains nodded absently. "I had, uh, heard of her, of course. The new generation of p-probes she designed are gathering more d-detailed information about our nearest neighbor stars, including whether or not there's an M-class planet in any, uh, of the nearby systems."

"Right." John settled back down into a seat. "The second ten probes are due to be launched soon, and there's been a lot of debate as to whether or not the information they gather will actually arrive back to Earth in time to be of any use." He put his hands behind his head and settled back. "This is a very long term project and the first images won't show up for another five years or more, even though they are transmitted by laser packet." He cocked his head to one side. "I'll be meeting her in Edinburgh later this month; there's a seminar for astronomers that I'm booked for – rescues or no rescues. You could come with me. Put that new wardrobe to use."

"You think I could?" Brains asked, sounding interested.

"Probably. It would be work related, in a way, so Dad would likely be amenable." John flipped through his surface mail, discarding what little junk there was and setting the more interesting pieces on his coffee table. "Do you have anything else scheduled?"

"W-Well, I do have to visit Lady, uh, Penelope again," Brains said, his tone thoughtful. "My c-custom made clothing is, uh, ready. I also have an appointment in Sydney with a sp-speech therapist. He's highly recommended. When is the, uh, conference?"

"The twenty-second to the twenty-fourth..." John's voice trailed off as Brains shook his head. "Can't make it?"

"N-No, I can't. My first appointment with the, uh, speech therapist is that weekend. Though I was thinking of, uh, visiting Lady Penelope after the appointment."

John frowned and set the rest of his mail aside, folding his arms. "Brains, be up front with me here: is all this personal improvement for Tin-Tin? Because if it is, you know it's unnecessary. She likes you just the way you are."

Brains scowled and looked away, out the tall windows at the lush jungle growth outside. "I t-told you it wasn't."

"And you lied." John stood and came around to face his friend. "You make a rotten liar, d'you know that? Even if no one else can see through you, I can. So, tell me the truth. Is this all for Tin-Tin?"

Brains held his scowl a moment longer, then his shoulders slumped. He sighed heavily. "Y-You're right. It is. But..." He held up a hand to forestall John's next comment. "I have a good, uh, reason for it, though. A reason that T-Tin-Tin wouldn't understand, I think."

John, his arms still folded, moved to lean up against the glass. "Okay. I'll bite. What's your 'good reason'?"

"You know what kind of woman, Tin-Tin is, uh, John. She's beautiful, talented, intelligent, caring... you said it yourself: she cares about people without any, uh, concern over h-how they look, or act, or talk. She's that kind of g-girl." Brains put his hands in his pockets. "But when I'm with her, she inspires me. Makes me want to be m-more than... this." He took a hand out and waved it vaguely in the direction of his face. "I want to be w-worthy of her. I want people to see us and say, 'There goes a n-nice-looking couple,' instead of 'What does she, uh, see in him?'."

John's eyes narrowed. "It sounds to me as if you're feeling a bit insecure because Gordon's in the picture."

Brains scowled again, but said nothing. John raised a fair eyebrow in challenge, until at last the engineer balled up his fists and said, "Okay! Yes! I'm feeling i-insecure. Alan, Gordon... all of you Tracy men are handsome, charismatic, intelligent, fit, wealthy..." He took a breath before loudly huffing out the last words. "...o-over-achievers! No one would look at you w-walking down the street with her and, uh, wonder what Tin-Tin would see in you! It's, uh, obvious just by looking at you!" He calmed and blew out a long breath. "I can't compete -except in intelligence, which isn't prized very highly - and I know it." His scowl eased, and a slight, wry smile crossed his lips. "But I'd like to t-try. She's worth it."

"So, why haven't you said anything to her?"

"You said it yourself, uh, John. She'd say it, uh, wasn't necessary. Then what do I do? Feel f-foolish for trying?" Brains moved up to stand beside John, though he was looking out, instead of in. "I did sort of, uh, let it slip that I was d-doing this for a special girl."

John's eyebrows rose. "You did _what_?"

"Tin-Tin mentioned that I must be doing this for a s-special girl." Brains rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I sort of, uh, blurted out that I w-was."

"Oh, no." John groaned. "Why the hell didn't you tell her it was her?"

Brains shook his head sharply. "I d-don't know! I was caught off-guard! I k-kicked myself all the w-way home for not, uh, telling her the t-truth."

"Well, hopefully she isn't thinking what I think she's thinking."

Brains stared at John, an uncertain expression on his face. "What do you, uh, think she might be thinking?"

"I hope that she isn't thinking that you have another woman!"

Brains's face paled and his blue eyes went wide. "Why d-do you think she w-would think that?!"

John spread his hands. "Why not? You told her you were doing all this for a special girl, but you didn't tell her it was her. What else is she going to think?"

"I... I never, uh, thought of that." Brains looked worried now. "What do you think I should, uh, do?"

John folded his arms and began to pace towards the far wall. "Well, whatever you do, don't go running down to the lab and tell her now."

"Why n-not?" Brains watched as his friend took ten paces, turned on his heel, and walked back toward him.

"Coming out of the blue like that... it would have bad results, I think. Especially in the lab." John reached the glass doors again, and turned around to pace back. "I think you need someplace neutral... and more or less romantic."

"Neutral I can, uh, understand. But r-romantic?"

"Well, you're trying to tell her she's special to you, right?" John stopped in his tracks and turned to face Brains.

"R-Right."

"So, make the experience special. Take her someplace private and quiet and tell her the truth."

Brains puzzled over this for a moment, then brightened. "Perhaps I can ask her to, uh, fly me to Wellington for my f-follow up appointments. I can't fly myself there, and last time we went d-dancing..."

"When is that?" John asked.

"The e-eleventh."

John did a quick calculation in his head, then made a face. "It's a Monday – Dad might expect you back the same day. After all, it's not like you're having the surgery again, and New Zealand isn't that far away." He shook his head. "A nice idea, but hold it in reserve."

They fell silent; Brains looked down and scuffed his shoe a little, while John stared out at the foliage. The sky was getting darker; a storm was moving in from the sea. Its approach had necessitated the earlier flight to and from Five than usual but with fewer desserts there was also one less cryofreezer to make the trip.

"I... I appreciate your, uh, advice, John," Brains said at last. "I n-never wanted to put you between m-me and G-Gordon."

John snorted a laugh, and smiled ruefully. "I think I put myself there, Brains. I've seen you and Tin-Tin together, and though part of me wants to root for Gords, I... I just see you with her more clearly. I think you'd have more of a future together. And I can sort of see where you're coming from, too. I just hope that Tin-Tin will understand as well."

"So do I," Brains said fervently. "So do I."


	8. Step 6: Follow up

_Author's notes: _This chapter took forever to write, it seems. And the characters keep surprising me, to the extent that I'm not sure what's going to happen at the end. Brains's creation of Skythrust and the surrounding events are from "Alias Mr. Hackenbacker". Drs. Briscoe & Rangihau, Arthur Mansfield, Dawn Pearson, Chloe and Sam are mine. Dena is herself. My feeble attempts at Kiwi-speak comes from the "Kiwi Words and Phrases" page at http:// www. Chemistry. co. nz/ kiwi. htm

My thanks to Kerrigan Sheehan (from lunaescence archives and FanNation) and Lillehafrue for their betareading expertise while Hobbeth is undergoing chemotherapy. Please keep Hobbeth in your thoughts and prayers.

_Disclaimer:_ I didn't create them; Gerry and Sylvia Anderson did. I don't own them; that honor goes to ITV/Granada. If you want to archive this elsewhere, please be polite and ask me first.

Enjoy,  
Tikatu

* * *

February 11

The days up to this had been hectic, with a series of major snowstorms sweeping across the United States and Canada, snarling roads, cutting off power, and creating emergency after dangerous emergency. Too many for the local rescue organizations to help, and in one case, the rescuers themselves needed IR's assistance. Just when they thought they'd had enough time to breathe, another situation – evacuation of a badly damaged gas rig in the tempestuous North Sea – brought Thunderbird Two and Four back into service. Even Brains had to carry his part of the load, taking over in the Mole during one of the blizzard-related rescues, and getting his hands dirty with Thunderbirds maintenance between trips. At one point, it even looked as if Brains would have to postpone his follow-up visits.

But, miraculously, the wild weather elsewhere took a slight breather near the eleventh. It would prove just long enough for Kyrano to fly Brains to his doctors' appointments, and enabling the retainer to restock the more perishable food items – including supplies for Gordon's upcoming birthday.

"So, Kyrano," Brains said from the co-pilot seat. "Is M-Mrs. Tracy going to bake a regular, uh, cake? Or does she have another n-new recipe?"

"For a special occasion such as this, she intends to continue her tradition of baking the celebrant's favorite cake, using the usual ingredients." Kyrano smiled serenely. "She sees no reason to stint on a birthday."

"Ah, I see." Brains gave Kyrano a hesitant smile. "I've been, uh, intrigued by the recipes she has f-found. They are, on the whole, comparable to the r-real thing."

"Yes, this is so. But we have been having trouble with cryofreezing some of the new desserts. There is something about the process that changes the flavor in undesirable ways. Mrs. Tracy and I ended up making some traditionally prepared desserts, and slicing them into smaller pieces for Mr. Alan to take to Thunderbird Five." Kyrano sighed. "There are not as many desserts either; Mrs. Tracy feels he will eat all of them at the beginning of his rotation."

"That sounds like something he would, uh, do." Brains paused, then sounding thoughtful, added. "Hm. Trouble with the c-cryofreezing. I'll have to, uh, look into this. Perhaps you could purchase some commercially produced frozen desserts with, uh, similar i-ingredients for me so I can w-work on the problem."

"I shall try to do so." The conversation lagged for a few moments, then Kyrano said, his tone one of mere curiosity, "Did the others give you their lists for purchasing sweets?"

"Uh, yes." Brains had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Though S-Scott said he didn't n-need anything this trip. Neither did John."

"Ah!" Kyrano sounded surprised. "Mr. John has always preferred a healthy diet. But I would not have thought that Mr. Scott would be the first to see the wisdom in his grandmother's resolution."

"Either that, or he plans on m-mooching off the, uh, rest of his brothers... and his father."

"Mr. Tracy requested you buy desserts for him?"

Brains squirmed a little. "Uh, yes. So I feel, uh, obligated to fill his order – and those of Gordon and V-Virgil."

The retainer shook his head slowly. "Mrs. Tracy will be most displeased."

"Uh, yes. I know." Brains paused, swallowing heavily. "Uh, could you n-not tell her? I m-mean, I feel like I, uh, should help the guys out – especially M-Mr. Tracy... my employer... uh, _our_ employer?"

Kyrano chuckled a little. "I will look the other way when you purchase the items on your shopping list. However, I believe that Mrs. Tracy will know about their requests – without anyone telling her at all."

Brains shook his head, a gloomy expression on his face. "I was a-afraid you'd say that."

xxxx

Tin-Tin padded down the steps to the pool, her pink sandals making a flip-flop sound as they slapped against her heels. She carried a straw bag over one arm, and dropped it beside a lounger. Her fingers moved surely as she plaited her hair, wrapping the braids up and sliding her pink swim cap over them. Doffing her sandals and her light cover up, she headed for the high board.

Gordon was barely aware of her movement as he powered up and down the length of the pool. His peripheral vision caught a motion; not enough to know who was there, or where they were going, but enough to know that someone was nearby. It was only after turning at the pool's far end that he caught the mass of bubbles accompanying Tin-Tin's trim form after her dive. He made mental note of her arrival, and kept to his rhythm.

Tin-Tin surfaced, shaking her face free of water. She thought about joining Gordon in doing lengths up and down the pool, but she knew she had nowhere near his stamina. Besides, she was feeling playful, and swimming laps was just so much work. Using a leisurely crawl, she swam over to the steps and climbed out. Gordon had made his turn at the other end of the pool, and was heading in her direction. His strokes were sure and smooth; it was a pleasure just to watch him. She tried to think of something that would catch his attention since it was obvious that her dive had failed to do so. Spying a bright beach ball that had rolled into one corner, she hurried to fetch it and returned to the pool.

Gordon made his turn again, and when he surfaced to begin his stroke, he was startled from his rhythm by something smacking him lightly on the head. The beach ball bounced off, landing in front of him. He paused briefly, wondering if he should just bat it aside and continue, or whether he should stop and pick up with his laps later. With a slight mental sigh at time lost, he grabbed the beach ball, and turned back to the shallow end of the pool. That's when the second beach ball, which Tin-Tin had discovered bobbing in the deactivated hot tub, hit him in the face, dislodging his goggles.

She stood at the edge of the pool, giggling at his dumbfounded expression. A slow smile crossed his face as he realized that he was the one with the ammunition, and she was such a tempting target.

"Very funny," he said, sliding his goggles up to his wet, swept-back hairline, and changing his smile to a more congenial, less calculating one.

"I had to get your attention somehow," she offered as explanation. She watched him as he eased himself forward, the first beach ball held firmly in his hands.

"You wanted it? You got it!" He rose from the water, simultaneously launching the ball at her. But she was ready for him. Stepping back slightly, she caught it deftly, then dropped it quickly to one foot and booted the ball back in... right into his face again.

The giggles turned to out and out laughter as he shook his head briefly. He stood there stolidly, arms folded, a ginger eyebrow climbing, giving his face a speculative expression.

"You realize," he said, squelching the urge to grin. "You realize, this means war."

She mimicked his pose, folding her arms, one hip jutting out. "Bring it on."

With that, he turned to grab the beach ball that had bounced off his face and was floating to his right, close by. She ran along the edge of the pool, heading for the ball she had used in her second attack. It was also to Gordon's right, but had floated to a point where she could get it easily... or so she thought. As she leaned over the water, reaching with an outstretched arm, Gordon moved in, passing his weapon back and forth from hand to hand.

Tin-Tin managed to get her fingertips on the ball, but that only served to move it tantalizingly out of her reach. She looked up to see Gordon approaching, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Withdrawing, she scurried down the rest of the pool's length, moving out of range—or what she thought was his range. He took up the second beach ball, drawing it with him as he used his powerful legs to propel him along, following her, maintaining a light grip on both balls. She kept retreating, feeling safe in her distance from the water.

Suddenly, when he neared the lip of the pool, Gordon let go of both balls and ducked under water. He seemed to stay under longer than humanly possible. The beach balls floated closer to the pool's edge. Tin-Tin grew concerned, and since she couldn't see the water from where she was, she approached warily.

There was a watery explosion, and first one, then the other beach ball were propelled up and out. She squealed and thrust her hands out in a defensive maneuver, but she was unable to deflect the first ball. It hit her squarely in the face, and flew back into the pool, but on a slightly different return trajectory. The second, batted by her flailing hands, hit the deck, bounced once, then rolled away. Gordon, who had been halfway out of the pool when he'd launched his attack, went after it. Tin-Tin recovered from her start, and dove into the water, ending up in the more shallow part of the pool.

Their positions now reversed, Tin-Tin expected Gordon to do the same thing to her she'd done to him. She kept her profile low, even though she could easily have stood up. But Gordon wasn't the master prankster of Tracy island for nothing. Instead of throwing the beach ball, he backed up, got a running start, and with a war cry that would do justice to any onrushing horde, he did a cannonball into the pool. Tin-Tin shrieked as he landed right beside her. The ball, which he had carried with him into the pool, loosed from his grasp and floated away.

When he surfaced, shaking water from his grinning face, she stood and tried to slam her ammunition down on his head. But he was quicker, and grabbed her wrists, holding them up over her head. The beach ball, thrust downward by fettered and enfeebled fingers, bounced gently off his wet hair and floated mildly away.

"Now, I have you where I want you," Gordon murmured, moving closer, his half-closed eyes fixed on hers.

"Oh, you do, do you?" she challenged, a sly smile on her face.

"Oh yes." He stood, letting go of her wrists and sliding his hands down her arms to gently grasp her shoulders. She looked up at him, her smile fading at his suddenly serious expression. Slowly, every movement calculated as if to give her time to draw back, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her upturned, slightly parted lips. Her eyes widened, and she froze, still and stiff as a statue.

He pulled back, watching her reaction, his heart clenching within him as he saw how shocked she looked. Then the stiffness melted away, and she reached up with a hand to run her fingers along one side of his jaw.

"Oh, Gordon," she breathed, using the same tone she had so often employed with Alan. Sliding her hand up behind his head, she guided his face down for another, fully reciprocated, kiss. His hands found their way from her shoulders to her back and waist, pulling them together with a firm determination as a third, deeper kiss followed.

"Hey, guys!"

Gordon's head whipped around at the call, and he half-turned to see who had uttered it. John came down the steps from the lower level of the house, wearing a bathing suit, open Hawaiian print shirt, and a towel around his neck. "How's the water?" he asked.

"Uh, just great, John," Gordon replied. He let go of Tin-Tin, and she stepped back from him, lowering herself into the water with a smooth, backwards glide.

"Oh, hi, Tin-Tin!" John called cheerfully as he stopped by a poolside lounger.

"Hello, John," she replied as he divested himself of towel and shirt, then headed for the low diving board. By this time, Gordon had shaken loose of his momentary paralysis, and was headed for the pool's deep end. Tin-Tin, who had backstroked her way to the far shallow end, watched as John dove smoothly in and Gordon began another set of laps. She sighed, and climbed out of the water. As she retrieved her own beach towel, she ran her fingertips over her lips, and squeezed her eyes tightly against the sudden burning sensation welling up in them. _Why did it have to feel so... right?_

xxxx

"Everything looks good," Dr. Briscoe said, nodding. "Your sight is at 20/20, Hiram. You're cleared to go back to work." He turned the lights back on in the examining room. "Now, do you have a pair of good sunglasses?"

The word "yes" was on the tip of Brains's tongue, but he paused to consider his answer further. "I have a pair of p-prescription sunglasses." His face lit up with delight. "But I don't suppose I'll, uh, be needing them anymore."

Dr. Briscoe laughed. "Quite right. You won't be needing them again." He put up a finger. "However, you should have a good pair of non-prescription ones." He wrote something down on a pad of paper. "Here. These are the specifications you should be looking for."

Brains took the paper. "I'll probably need new, uh, swim goggles, too," he mused aloud.

"Good idea." Dr. Briscoe escorted him from the examining room. "Get those as soon as possible, Hiram. The more protection your eyes have, the better."

"R-Right." Brains held out his hand to his ophthalmologist. "Thank you, Dr. B-Briscoe. You've made a new man of, uh, me."

"I doubt that very much, Hiram." Dr. Briscoe took his patient's hand, and shook it. "I'll see you back in six months."

Brains stopped by the check out window to make his next appointment and make sure that the day's charges would be sent to his insurance company. Then he stepped next door to the optical shop affiliated with Dr. Briscoe's practice.

The shop didn't look too busy, though there seemed to be a knot of customers clustered around one particular showcase. A salesperson, a redhead with the name "Dena" embroidered on her sharp dress shirt, approached him.

"Hello? Can I help you?" She frowned slightly. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

Brains smiled, feeling his lips pull over the clear retainers he still wore. "H-Hello, Dena. It's me, Hiram H-Hackenbacker."

Her green eyes, their color augmented with colored contacts, widened in surprise and recognition. "Why, Professor! I didn't recognize you! What happened to your glasses?"

"I, uh, had surgery." He stood a little straighter. "No more, uh, thick lenses for me."

"It's brilliant!" she told him, smiling. "Still, if you don't need any glasses, why are you here?"

"Dr. Br-Briscoe did tell me I should get some, uh, sunglasses. Can I buy them h-here?"

"Of course. Did he tell you what you should have?" Dena moved toward the racks of spectacle frames.

Brains presented her with the piece of paper. "Yes." She nodded. "We can do this. Did you want light sensitive lenses? Ones that turn darker in the sun?"

"That sounds like a, uh, good idea," Brains replied. "Could I have them be r-reflective, too?"

"Trying to hide those big blue eyes?" Dena said with a chuckle. "Whatever you like, Professor." She indicated the dozens of frames displayed across the store's main room. "Why don't you find a frame that you like? Then we can work on the lenses."

"All right." Brains started toward the free-standing racks, then stopped and turned. "Where might I find the, uh, _designer_ frames?"

Dena's smile widened. "We have several showcases full of designer frames right there," she said, indicating a semi-circular arrangement in the middle of the room. Stifling a sigh, she added, "You may have to wait until our celebrity customer is gone before you can view them all."

With her head, she indicated the knot of people crowded around one of the cases. Brains squinted a bit, trying to make out the features of the blonde at the crowd's center. "Th-That's Dawn Pearson, the, uh, American actress. What is she doing here?"

"Trying on every pair of frames in the place, it seems," Dena replied, her tone dry. "She lost her prescription sunnies on the set, and needs new ones... or two... or three."

"That man with her. He's Arthur M-Mansfield." Brains was surprised that the names came so easily. "I had, uh, heard they were what you might call an, uh, item."

"Well, blow me down, Professor," Dena said, raising an eyebrow as she smiled at him. "I wouldn't have sussed you to be into celebrity gossip."

Brains colored a little. "Well," he stammered, trying to save face, "M-Mr. Mansfield is in the field of aviation technology, and is a, uh, business rival of my own employers. I would be, uh, expected to know him." So saying, he began to scan the frames within the showcase before him.

"If you say so." She took her place behind the counter, ready to help him choose new frames.

As he tried on the frames, Brains grinned. Not only did he have a much wider variety to choose from, but he could see himself clearly in the mirror. Every so often he would glance up at Dena, as if asking her opinion. The expression on her face told him whether or not she felt it was a good choice or not. He eventually whittled his options down to three different styles.

In the meantime, the small knot of people had moved in Brains's direction. The salesperson assigned to the actress and her paramour looked harried and frazzled, and gave Dena a "What can you do?" look as they descended on the showcase Brains had been perusing.

"Oh!" Dawn Pearson swept up one of the frames that Brains had singled out as a finalist. She put them on her face and looked at them critically in the mirror, which one of her coterie had moved from in front of Brains—just as he was again trying on another of the three.

At first, he was inclined to let this rudeness go, then he thought, _Why should I? I'm as good as she is, and perhaps even better._

"Ahem." He cleared his throat noisily. Two of the actress's assistants—the ones nearest him--turned briefly toward him, then quickly dismissed him as of no importance. He cleared his throat again, louder this time. One more assistant—or perhaps he was a bodyguard--and Mr. Mansfield, large, grim and grizzled, glanced his way this time. Dena and her counterpart exchanged troubled glances.

"Excuse me!" he said, finally getting the attention of the actress herself. As she glared at him, he squared his shoulders and said, his voice as calm and polite as a butler's, "I b-believe I was using that, uh, mirror... and those frames."

"So?" Her response was contemptuous. "I'm using them now." The actress turned back to preen before the mirror, checking the fit of the frames from every angle.

Her assistants tried to nudge him out of the way. One of the men with the group—definitely a bodyguard—stepped up with a threatening scowl. Brains's slow-to-kindle anger was ignited.

"Ms. Pearson--or should I say Ms. Martha Trundle—I'm sure your mother taught you good manners at some point in your life." The words came out so fast and forcefully that Brains didn't have time to stutter, nor even think about where his information came from. "Just because you've starred in a few relatively successful movies—not to mention eight flops and a two-week role on Broadway before being fired—doesn't mean you shouldn't wait your turn."

Every person in the place, sales force and customers alike, now had their eyes on the little group by the designer showcases. Pearson's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped as she turned back to Brains. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, and when he was finished, she began to sputter, "You... you..."

Mansfield put his ham-like hand on her should. "Don't worry, honey. I'll take care of this." Moving out from the crowd, he made his way over to where Brains was standing, pushing the bodyguard aside. He towered over the slighter man, but Brains, accustomed to dealing with similarly impressive men in Jeff Tracy and his sons, merely straightened up.

"Who the blazing hell do you think you are?" Mansfield asked, his voice like a loud growl in his throat. "Who do you think you are, treating a lady like that?"

"I am Hiram K. Hackenbacker," Brains replied, meeting Mansfield's angry expression with a cool one of his own, not even noticing that his stutter was absent. He added, as an afterthought, "At your service." Turning his gaze to the actress, he opined, "If Ms. Trundle would like to be considered a lady, perhaps she should act like one. After all, she _does_ claim to know how to act."

Dawn Pearson looked further scandalized, but the mention of Brains's name brought Mansfield up short. "Hackenbacker. Hackenbacker? Hm." He fingered his cleft chin. "Where have I heard that..." His dark eyes lit up with sudden recognition. "Hackenbacker! Skythrust! You're the man who designed Skythrust!"

Brains looked surprised, but nodded. "I am."

Mansfield held out his big hand. "Mr. Hackenbacker, I wanna shake your hand. I was on the maiden flight of that plane; had an invitation from your backers to see it in action." He shook his head. "What a wild ride that was! A fashion show, terrorists, and International Rescue, all in one trip! And if you hadn't come up with the idea of jettisoning the fuel tanks... well, sir, you and I wouldn't be standing toe-to-toe today! Put 'er there!"

Stunned, Brains took Mansfield's hand and had his own thoroughly pumped. Dawn Pearson's eyes were wider than ever, seeing her avenging angel so chummy with the little mouse that dared roar at her.

"Dawn, honey," Mansfield drew her out of her circle of sycophants and to his side. "Dawn, this is Hiram Hackenbacker, creator of Skythrust, a jet with such a great safety concept I wish I'd thought of it!"

The actress tried to smile. "How... fascinating," she said, offering Brains a limp, lukewarm handshake. She removed the frames she had been modeling, and put them—or rather, tossed them—onto the showcase. "These definitely aren't my type." Turning to Mansfield, she murmured, "Arty, darling, can't we go somewhere else? I really don't see anything I like here."

"Sure, honey, sure. Chloe, call the car."

"Yes, Mr. Mansfield."

While Chloe put a phone to her ear and did the tycoon's bidding, Mansfield pulled a small silver case from one of his jacket's inside pockets. "Here, Hackenbacker. If you ever decide to go freelance, or are looking for another job, just call me. I like your style, and could use a good man like you in my firm. It was good to meet you."

With that, he turned and, drawing his girlfriend with him, left the shop, their combined entourage in pursuit. Brains looked down at the business card he'd been handed, then glanced up at a dumbstruck Dena, and the salesperson who had been assisting the actress.

"I a-apologize if I cost you a, uh, sale," he said mildly, pulling out his wallet and tucking the card inside.

Dena's counterpart, whose name tag read "Mel" shrugged and sighed. "I sussed that the more frames she tried on, the less chance she'd buy any."

"Well, now that she's pushed off, let's find you the perfect pair of sunnies, eh," Dena said, her tone firm.

xxxx

In the end, Brains purchased two pairs of sunglasses. "So I have a backup, in case I, uh, mislay one." He checked his watch, and promised to come pick the finished product up after his appointment with the orthodontist. Then, calling a cab, he directed his driver to Dr. Rangihau's office.

"Is there any, uh, change?" he asked.

"A tiny bit." The orthodontist shook her head. "This takes time, Mr. Hackenbacker. Now, if you'll wait here, your new aligners will be ready soon. My assistant will bring them to you and fit them." She stopped on her way out the door. "Two weeks, Mr. Hackenbacker. Your correction will go faster if you're back here every fortnight. So make your next appointment accordingly."

"Yes, ma'am."

While waiting, Brains pulled out his phone, and dialed Tracy Island.

Tin-Tin, who had decided some sunbathing was in order, was startled by the appearance of Jeff at the balcony rail.

"Gordon!"

Gordon stood in the shallow end and wiped his hair back from his eyes, lifting his goggles as he did so. "Yes, sir?"

"What's the name of the shop where you buy your swim gear?"

Gordon gave his father a puzzled look. "Well, there's more than one..."

Irritably, Jeff motioned with one arm. "You come up here and talk to Brains, then. He's the one who wants to know."

Obediently, Gordon left the pool, snagging his towel and favoring Tin-Tin with a bright smile as he passed her on the way to the balcony. She returned the smile, then settled herself back down onto her lounger.

"So, what was that all about?"

The sudden question startled Tin-Tin again. "I suppose Brains needed to find some..."

"That's not what I was talking about." John sat on the lounger next to her, but he wasn't reclining. He sat on one edge, facing her, still dripping from the pool. "What I saw as I came out to the pool today. What was _that_ all about?"

Tin-Tin's face flushed though she kept her voice cool and nonchalant. "So Gordon kissed me." She shrugged slightly. "Nothing to make a fuss over."

"From where I stood, it didn't look as if Gordon was the only one doing the kissing." As hard as he tried to moderate it, John's tone still sounded accusatory.

"And how is that any of _your_ business, John Tracy?" Her eyes narrowed in an uncharacteristic scowl. "Gordon and I are both adults. Please remember that the next time you want to meddle in our affairs."

She slipped her cover up on as she spoke, and slid her feet into her sandals. But John had another question.

"What about Brains?"

Tin-Tin rose, and gave her hair a saucy toss. "What about him? He's spending so much time changing himself for some... some _other _woman... that he has no time for anything else. Including me."

With that, she stalked off, swinging her bag with such a forceful arc it looked as if she wanted to hit someone with it.

"That's not fair!" John called after her. She picked up her pace and disappeared into the house before he could continue his protest.

"What's not fair?" Gordon came down the steps from the balcony just in time to see Tin-Tin enter the house. He approached his older brother. "What was that all about?"

John considered telling Gordon what he'd seen and said, but realized that his brother was more likely to side with Tin-Tin than with him. "Never mind," he muttered. "Or better yet, ask her. I'm through."

Picking up his shirt and towel, he loped back to the house, shaking his head, and leaving a perplexed Gordon behind him.


	9. Plateau: Misunderstandings

_Author's notes: _John and Brains's college friendship is from the comics. Thanks to ArtisticRainey for being a sounding board and to Kerrigan Sheehan (from lunaescence archives and FanNation) for her betareading expertise while Hobbeth is undergoing chemotherapy. Please keep Hobbeth in your thoughts and prayers.

_Disclaimer:_ I didn't create them; Gerry and Sylvia Anderson did. I don't own them; that honor goes to ITV/Granada. If you want to archive this elsewhere, please be polite and ask me first.

Enjoy,  
Tikatu

* * *

Brains returned in a happy, expansive mood. He had two new pairs of sunglasses, his new aligners (which did not make him lisp nearly as strongly as before), and the treats he had promised to pick up for the Tracys. He insisted on flying back, and his companion didn't object.

"It is good to know you are ready to resume your duties," Kyrano said, smiling. "I am certain Mr. Tracy will be very relieved."

"I thure... I mean, _sure_ am," Brains said, correcting his slight lisp. "I can hardly wait to, uh, tell Tin-Tin the good news!"

Kyrano's soft smile widened slightly, but he said nothing.

When they finally reached the hangar and slid the jet into her berth, they found they had a welcoming committee. Tin-Tin waited there, standing beside Virgil, who had an anti-gravity cargo float hovering behind him. When the jet's whine died down to silence, the pair moved forward, Virgil heading for the rear cargo bay, and Tin-Tin to the starboard side, near the boarding hatch. Her fingers twisted around each other, and she bounced slightly on her heels as there was a click, then a sibilant hissing. The hatch lowered slowly, the interior panel drawing back to reveal a short set of embedded steps. Kyrano's face appeared first; he smiled as he saw his daughter waiting there. She reached up a steadying hand; he paused for a moment as if considering her offer of support, then he grasped it.

"Careful, Father!" she cried, moving closer to assist him. He shook his head a little as he took the final, deepest step from the hatch to the hangar floor.

"Thank you, Tin-Tin," he said, giving her hand a squeeze, and stepping into her embrace. Behind them, Brains descended, a jaunty spring in his step. He raised a hand in greeting.

"Hello, uh, Tin-Tin. What do you think?"

She peered at him, a puzzled frown making a slight crease between her eyebrows. "I don't see..."

"The thun... I mean, _sun_glasses! Wh-What do you think?"

Her face cleared. "Oh! I understand. They're very stylish, Brains."

"Yeah, they look good on you," Virgil said, joining the small group. "How'd it go with your appointments?"

"I'm pleased to report that I'm back on f-full duty," Brains said, taking off the glasses, and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

"Dad'll be glad to hear that," Virgil replied, nodding. "He wants to see you right away."

Brains made a gesture toward the plane. "I have to do p-post-flight checks."

"Mr. Tracy said those could wait. He's very anxious to see you." Tin-Tin moved toward the float. It was already half-covered in boxes and crates. "I'll help Virgil down here with the unloading. Father, wouldn't you like to go up to the villa and have a rest?"

One silvered brow rose slightly. "Indeed I would, Tin-Tin... when my duties are finished for the day." He moved toward the float. "I will assist you here."

There was a momentary pause, and Tin-Tin shot Virgil an anguished look. He shrugged slightly and shook his head, as if saying, "Don't ask me", then clapped a hand on Brains's shoulder, making the slighter man wince. "Better get upstairs pronto, Brains. Dad's waiting."

"O-Okay, Virgil." Brains gave a little sigh, and walked off. His jaunty step was now a purposeful stride, then he broke into a loping run as he headed for the nearest elevator.

"He's not going to be too happy when he finds out just why Dad wants to see him," Virgil muttered, climbing up into the cargo bay. "Tin-Tin? Crank up the impellers on that baby a bit more, will you? I think it should be closer to the hatch."

xxxx

"Welcome home, Brains." Jeff swiveled away from the communications array behind his desk.

"Th-Thank you, M-Mr. Tracy." Brains stepped from the study into the lounge proper. He found himself cursing his stutter; it always seemed stronger around his employer. "Virgil said you wanted to, uh, thee... I mean, see me right away."

"Yes, I did." Jeff looked beyond Brains to Scott, who was close on the engineer's heels. "Come in, Scott."

"Hey, Brains." Scott said, smiling, subtly herding the younger man further into the room. "How did things go?"

"Yes, Brains. What did your doctors have to say?" Jeff moved from behind his desk to perch lightly on its front edge, one foot on the floor. He folded his arms. "I hope you have some good news for us."

"Yeth... I mean, yes, I d-do." Brains settled himself on Thunderbird Three's sofa. "My opthamologist has g-given me a clean bill of health and says I'm fit for, uh, duty. I have my thec... _second_ set of aligners, and I, uh, have to return in t-two weekth," here he sighed, "for my next, uh, appointment."

"Well, that_ is_ good news," Jeff said, nodding. His tone, though, sent up warning signs in Brains's mind, and he sat up a little straighter.

"Did anything unusual happen while you were gone?" Scott asked, sounding merely curious. His query and tone now set off positive alarm bells in Brains's thoughts.

"W-Well, now that you, uh, mention it..." he started.

"We've seen what happened, Brains." Jeff picked up the remote from his desk and turned on the televid.

"And in business news today," an off-screen anchor said, "Mansfield Aerotech may be gaining the services of one of the world's most reclusive and highly-sought-after aerospace engineers, Hiram Hackenbacker."

The vid clip showed Brains and Mansfield shaking hands. It was slightly shaky, as if whoever had been holding the camera had not been steady. The anchor continued, "An unnamed source tells us that the two met in a Wellington optical store where Mansfield's companion, American actress Dawn Pearson, was purchasing replacement eyewear. Hackenbacker, creator of the ultra-safe passenger jet Skythrust, has rarely been seen in public." The video showed Mansfield giving Brains his card. "Speculation that this brilliant man may be joining Mansfield Aerotech caused the firm's stocks to rise..."

"That's enough." Jeff turned it off, and turned toward Brains. "Now, please explain all this."

Brains opened his mouth to speak, and a huff of air came out. Swallowing, he paused to gather his thoughts. "W-Well... I, uh, went to thee... _see_ Dr. Briscoe, and he thu... suggested I get thom... uh, _some_ good sunglasses." He worked hard to get the last word out without the lisp. "I went to the optical shop next door. Mr. Mansfield and Ms. Trundle... I mean, Ms. Pearthon..." He heard Scott snorting behind him. "...were there. Ms. Pearson was, uh, getting new glasses." His lip curled as he remembered the scene. "She was being very, uh, rude, and when I p-pointed this out, Mr. Mansfield got all d-defensive. I, uh, introduced myself, and he r-recognized my name. I was terribly thur... surprised. He praised me for my, uh, w-work, and g-gave me his card." Brains shrugged, holding up both hands. "I had no idea that thum... _some_one was, uh, recording our encounter, though I should have g-guessed someone would with M-Ms. Pearson there."

It was Jeff's turn to gather his thoughts and ask his burning question. "So, it was just a chance meeting? You're not thinking of... jumping ship?"

"That's what I thaid... _said_, isn't it?" Brains's brows knit together in a frown. "And, no, I'm not thinking of 'jumping ship' as you tho... so quaintly put it." His face softened. "I signed on because I, uh, believed in what you wanted to d-do. I still, uh, believe in it."

A slight smile crossed Jeff's face; his shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. Glancing at Scott, he made the nod more emphatic, dismissing his son from the room. "I'm glad to hear that, Brains. I was a bit worried there for a moment or two. I'm sure that if you wanted to, you could find something more lucrative or challenging..."

"B-But not as tha... satisfying," Brains said firmly. He shook his head. "I'll be glad when this, uh, lisp th... stops."

"You're doing better than last time," Jeff said, his tone one of mild amusement. He circled back around his desk and settled himself in his chair. "Thanks for clearing that up, Brains. Though the incident does hand us a pretty problem. Your face has now been seen on worldwide televid." He tapped a stylus on his desk. "What can be done about it?"

Brains blinked once, and again. "Oh d-damn." At Jeff's slightly scandalized look, he apologized. "I'm thorry, M-Mr. Tracy. You are right, of course." He shook his head slowly. "If this had, uh, happened before the thur... surgery, there would be l-little, uh, p-problem. The r-removal of the g-glasses might have been all that was, uh, needed."

"The old 'Clark Kent' routine, eh?" Jeff said with a chuckle.

Brains gazed at him with a blank frown. "Clark K-Kent?"

Jeff opened his mouth to explain, then shook his head and made a dismissive motion with his hand. "Don't worry about that; it's not important." Picking up his stylus, he beat a light tattoo on his desk. "I'm at a loss here, Brains."

"Well," the engineer began thoughtfully. "I am thup... supposed to see Lady Penelope thoo... _soon_ to p-pick up my, uh, tailored clothing. Our p-plan was for me to have my hair, uh, styled then as well." He ran his fingers through the still-short thatch on his head. "Perhaps I should, uh, color it as well."

At this, Jeff sat up straight. "Color your hair? What kind of fool idea is that?"

"I think it's a good one," came a voice from the other end of the room. Jeff glanced up and Brains turned to see Eleanor standing at the entry between the study and the lounge. "Land's sakes, Jeff! You'd think you were born in the last century! Men color their hair all the time these days." She stepped down into the lounge proper. "You should try it sometime yourself. It would make you look years younger."

She sat down next to Brains, facing him. With a gentle hand, she took his chin in her fingers and made his head swivel this way and that. "Well, Brains, if you do color your hair, I think you should go for something darker; nearer to black, I dare say. Auburn is also good, but it's not enough of a change from this shade of brown."

"Wh-What about blond?" he asked, smiling.

She shook her head. "If you went blond, you'd likely have to bleach your eyebrows, too, so they would match. Bleaching one's eyebrows is no easy task, even today." Squinting, she gave his hair another critical look. "No, you wouldn't do well as a blond. But you could have them relax your hair, smooth it out and give it a bit of wave. Right now it has the texture of steel wool--very stiff and bristly." She pursed her lips, and ran a hand through Brains's hair. "You really should be using some conditioner, I think."

"Mother!"

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Jeff, the boy needs to hear these things. And if you're so all fired perturbed about that little bit of vid, then you should send him out to see Lady Penelope right away." She fixed a baleful eye on Brains. "I dare say his hair is getting long enough to work with."

Brains gulped. Jeff, clearly peeved, pulled up the family's schedule on his computer. "I hate the idea of sending him out just when he's been green-lighted for duty," he grumbled, half to himself. "Hm." He raised his head and called, "Can it wait until John goes to his conference? Kill two birds with one stone, as it were?"

"I have already, uh, talked with John about that p-possibility," Brains said. "I have an appointment in Sydney on the 22nd and one with my orthodontist on the 25th. There's no way..."

"Reschedule them," Jeff said, his tone abrupt. "You can go with John on the 21st."

Brains opened his mouth to protest, then shut it abruptly. _I would have to tell him who Dr. Lattimer is and how difficult it is to get an appointment. That would mean revealing my resolution... and I don't want him to know that, not now, at any rate._

So he replied, with a hint of sullen resentment in his voice. "Yes, thir... sir."

"Make sure you put the appointments into the schedule so I know what's going on." Jeff indicated the screen before him. "There's no notation here about any appointment on the 22nd. And you could have easily sent the orthodontist appointment via your phone."

"Oh, Jeff," Eleanor snapped. "He was too busy today to think of that!" She shook her head. "Back on duty for less than an hour and you're already pestering him!"

"I am not, Mother." Jeff glanced at Brains, who was standing, ready to flee if the current discussion turned into something stronger. "Brains, you'd better reschedule the appointments, then get those post-flight checks done. You can go over what's been put off while you've been on sick leave, and get a start on it tomorrow."

Brains, holding onto his now-simmering temper with both hands—which were clenched into fists and hidden in his pockets--simply nodded. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked out.

Eleanor watched him go, a concerned frown on her face. She glanced over at Jeff, who was scanning something on his computer screen. "Jeff."

Startled, he looked up. "Yes, Mother?"

"You really need to go easier on Brains. You're going to make that boy truly angry some day, and there will be an explosion worthy of Mt. St. Helens."

"Brains?" Jeff's face betrayed his puzzlement. "He rarely gets angry. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him get more than just annoyed."

Eleanor shook her head. "You don't see it, do you?" she said. "I've seen his kind before; they tend to let everything simmer and when it finally all comes to a head, watch out!"

xxxx

Brains stormed off down the hallway, muttering under his breath. He was both angry at Jeff for his demands, and angry at himself for not standing up to his employer. "How dare he insinuate that I would jump ship! And why do I have to reschedule? He's as sensitive as block of wood!"

He stomped right past John, who was just coming out of his room. "Hey, Brains!"

When Brains—deep in his mutterings and mutinous thoughts—didn't respond, John followed his friend down the hall. "Brains? Hey, Brains!"

It wasn't until he actually put a hand on Brains's shoulder that John got a response—but not the one he expected. Brains swung around with a harshly grated, "What!?" Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and put a shaking hand to his brow. Much of the tension drained from his body, and his shoulders drooped. "John, it's, uh, you."

"Yeah. It's me." John hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I called, but you didn't seem to hear me. Where are you headed?"

"To the hangars. I thi... _still_ have to do my, uh, post-flight checks."

John smiled. "Then why don't I come with you and give you a hand? It'll go faster, and we can talk, if you want."

Brains sighed. "I g-guess tho."

On the way down to the monorail, Brains took out his phone. A look at the time on it made him groan. "Dr. Rangihau's office is closed now. I'll have to, uh, call t-tomorrow. Good thing Thyd... Sydney is two hours, uh behind us. I may be able to, uh, catch thom... someone still there." He opened the phone's address book to look for Dr. Lattimer's entry, and when he found it, he placed a call.

At such close quarters in the richly paneled elevator, John couldn't help but eavesdrop as Brains, in his lisping stutter, rescheduled his appointment with a Dr. Lattimer. The date he dropped clued John in to who this person was. _The 22__nd__... must be his speech therapist._ It was clear to John that Brains was not happy with the alternate date given to him, but in the end, the engineer took the appointment that was available. When he finished the call, he gave his taller friend a slight smile.

"Looks like I'll be g-going to, uh, England with you a-after all, John."

They stepped into the monorail, and John took the controls, while Brains sat on one of the benches that lined the car. "That's great, Brains. Why the sudden change of plans?"

Brains scowled and his voice turned sour. He folded his arms, slouching in his seat. "Your father has _commanded_ me to, uh, reschedule my appointments so I can g-go with you. Now that I'm, uh, back on full duty, he d-doesn't want me going off again anytime thoo... soon."

"Hey, you're back to work!" John exclaimed. "That's good news, isn't it?"

The engineer shrugged. "I thup...suppose." He shook his head sharply. "Damn. I hope I get used to these... soon."

"Again I ask, why the sudden change? I'm sure that if Dad wants you nearby, he wouldn't be letting you go to England at all." John kept his eyes up front, resisting the desire to glance over at his friend.

"Your grandmother tha... says I need a, uh, haircut. I'm to w-wait until your trip to have it styled and to p-pick up my, uh, tailored clothes."

John nodded sagely. "Ah, I see. Two birds with one stone and all that rot."

"P-Precisely."

They were silent for a few minutes as the monorail took them past the power plant and down the slope past the lab. The long halogen lights brightened as they approached, and dimmed as soon as they passed, leaving them in a perpetual puddle of gloomy illumination. Even the headlights on the monorail car seemed to do little to dispel the darkness; they merely highlighted the pockmarked walls that had been drilled in the long-congealed lava. As they passed the lab, Brains almost asked John to stop; the habit of going to the lab was highly ingrained, but he remembered their destination, and settled back.

"I saw an interesting vid clip today," John remarked.

"The one with m-me and Mansfield?" Brains asked, his tone still sour.

"Yep. That's the one. So, why did you take his card?"

"It would have been, uh, impolite not to."

John nodded, an amiably thoughtful expression on his face. "True, that. Too bad the news is making more of it than it was."

Brains stopped to think over the implications of John's comment, then gave his friend a keen, calculating look. "Why is it that you haven't c-come to the thame... I mean, the same conclusion that your, uh, father did?"

"What conclusion was that?" John glanced over at Brains, one blond eyebrow raised.

The engineer became sullen again. "That I was going to—as he tho quaintly put it--'jump ship'."

"You mean, he thought you were going to quit here and join Mansfield's company?" John sounded almost incredulous.

"He was afraid I, uh, would."

"Tch." John shook his head. "Like you ever would. Dad should know that."

"You haven't, uh, answered my qu-question."

John pulled the monorail car to a halt outside the lift that would take them to the hangars. "Brains, after all these years I've known you, do you honestly think I would assume you'd do that? That you'd leave Dad, leave all of us in the lurch? Brains, you're not just an employee, you're family. Even to Dad... when he has his head on straight." He shook his head, his blond mane swaying back and forth. "Seriously! If you weren't family, Grandma wouldn't hound you all the time to eat. Gordon wouldn't pull any pranks on you..." He stepped out of the car, and pressed the call button for the lift. "Hm. What pranks _has_ he pulled? I've been up in Five so much that I may have missed them."

Brains snorted. "He, uh, dressed Braman in one of your grandmother aprons and an old-fashioned mop and, uh, stuck him in a thu... supply closet. When I o-opened the door, Braman fell out. I screamed like a little girl, and he caught it all on vid." He rubbed his abdomen. "I still hurt thinking about it. Braman is, uh, heavy." A moment's thought, and he added, "He also reprogrammed my w-work computer to say thom... something rude when I, uh, closed a file." A smug look crossed his face as he followed John into the elevator. "He w-won't do that again, though I still w-wonder how he got my p-password."

"With Gordon, there's no telling." John put a hand on Brains's shoulder. "But you see my point? If you weren't family, Gordon wouldn't feel so free to do that." He snapped his fingers. "And if you weren't family, Scott and Virgil wouldn't have offered to help you with your resolution."

Brains sighed. "I g-guess you're right. It just made me tho mad that your f-father..."

"Dad," John said succinctly, "sometimes has his head up his butt when it comes to IR. But think of it this way; he didn't pressure you to come back to work early, did he? He didn't ask you to do him a favor while you were on sick leave, did he?" He kept to himself his father's request that he ask Brains to start working again sooner, a request that he turned down flat.

The engineer shook his head. "N-No, he didn't. In fact, he was a-adamant that I get an e-earlier appointment. O-Offered to pull some thri... strings."

"See. He wanted you to be back to full strength. The vid just gave him a scare, that's all."

The elevator deposited them on the hangar floor, and they took their time getting to the plane. Brains climbed into the jet and took the pilot's seat. Pulling out the jet's netbook, he beckoned John to join him. "Let's thar... start up here."

John settled in beside him, grinning. "You're on, Brains."


End file.
